


worst

by realmsoffreedom



Category: Waterparks (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-11 05:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12928902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realmsoffreedom/pseuds/realmsoffreedom
Summary: After what will definitely go down in history as the worst breakup ever, Awsten is just trying to stay afloat and survive the rest of the tour. And Geoff, well…the universe has decided to have a laugh and kick his feelings into overdrive at theworstpossible time.This tour is about to change everything.(basically what i think is going on with awsten atm with gawsten thrown in because i love them)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so, i mentioned putting this up in the last chapter of the darkness inside us and a lot of you seemed into it, so here goes.
> 
> couple things beforehand: i've been working on this for a couple weeks, ever since the news came out about awsten and ciara. i love bands and band members way too much, and for me, when something happens to someone i really truly love and care about (like awsten), i want to be able to do something, to help, even though i can't. writing is my way of "helping" in a way, because if i can't help irl i can write a story where things get better, where things are fixed, etc. 
> 
> not only that, but this breakup brought back a lot of feelings about my breakup and my ex so a lot of this is me trying to cope with feelings i should've sorted out a few months ago and am only now actually starting to feel lmao (go me and my self-destructive tendencies tbh)
> 
> this was supposed to be a long oneshot only centered around awsten but i'm a slut for gawsten and angst so i'm throwing geoff in here too with some thoughts and feelings of his own. 
> 
> i'm gonna try and not make it too triggering, although anxiety, depression, and panic attacks are big, only because so many waterparks songs allude to anxiety and depression to the point where i'm pretty sure that's what awsten struggles with. 
> 
> enjoy!

Awsten is trying.

He’s trying so hard to be fine and be on and act like this isn’t the worst thing in the world. He’s trying to think about something else, not waste too much time on it, trying to tell himself that this can’t be the thing that destroys him. He’s worked too hard and come too far to have everything torn down by something so stupid.

He should’ve known better. He should’ve known it was too good to be true, that the other shoe would eventually drop, that things couldn’t be that good forever. He should’ve known that people can’t be that perfect. He thought she was the one and she was, the one who would break him worse than anyone has before.

She cheated on Richard _with_ him. That was the first red flag but he was too enamored by her looks and her smile and just how damn _captivating_ she was that he didn’t see it. He never saw it. He always gave her the benefit of the doubt, and somewhere along the way, his heart.

And she returned it colder and deader and blacker than it’s ever been, cracked irreparably. 

She took his heart and gave back the pieces and now he’s trying to figure out where to go from here, how to come back from something like this, how to _live_ when all he can think about is death.

If only they weren’t on tour. Playing Powerless and 21 Questions and Stupid for You is indescribably awful. He can’t force himself to sing lyrics he wrote about the girl he thought he had forever with when forever is finite. 21 Questions was true and Powerless describes the situation and he wants to know why she didn’t miss him back, why she didn’t miss him at _all_ , if sleeping with another guy was so damn easy for her.

“Aws, hey, you gotta get up. We’ve got soundcheck.” Geoff shakes his shoulder gently, and he lets his body go limp, sliding his eyes shut, hoping Geoff will believe that he’s lost in sleep. “C’mon Awsten, I know you’re awake. I know you feel like shit but they’ve been on me and Otto all day and we can’t keep coverin’ for you. You’re gonna have ta face them sometime.”

“I don’t wanna sing Powerless,” he says. He’s making a valiant effort to keep his voice steady because he can’t keep crying, and he _definitely_ can’t cry in front of Geoff. “Or 21 Questions.”

Geoff shoots him a sympathetic smile. “We’ll cut them then. What do you wanna replace ‘em with?”

“Can we do No Capes? And maybe Little Violence?”

“Whatever you want,” Geoff replies, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Has, um…has she said anything?”

“Besides how great the sex was?” He rolls his eyes. “No. Move.” 

“Aws-”

“I _really_ don’t wanna talk about it,” Awsten mutters. “Now c’mon. We’re gonna be late for soundcheck.”

…

Meet and greets are exhausting.

He knows why they decided to do them and loves meeting the fans but it takes so much energy. It’s draining, to keep the smile on his face and pose for pictures and gloss over any question relating to her and tell them he’s okay, _lie_ that he’s okay.

The fans are sweet. They tell him they love him and bring gifts and make little videos for their friends. They’re like excited puppies, bursting with enthusiasm and dripping with love. He just wishes this hadn’t happened when it did so he could fully enjoy the experience. He’s never going to get it back and now he’ll remember it as one of the worst times in his life.

There’s a constant lump in his throat that throbs every so often, like a painful heartbeat pumping a fresh dose of self-hatred into his veins. He’s been trying not to cry as much because it’s getting harder to hide the red eyes, but sleeping was an issue even before things went to hell so he still looks like shit one way or another.

The worst part is that tour _just_ started and they have a bunch more shows to go so being in the haven of his bedroom and shutting out the world isn’t a wish he’ll have granted anytime soon. The thought makes him want to cry even more. It’s so much and he’s so tired and everything is so _awful_.

She was his support system. Be it the countless hours of facetime or texting until 2 am, she was the person he talked to about his feelings, the person he told whatever was on his mind…she was everything. 

And now she’s supposed to be nothing because she _cheated_ on him but he _wants_ her. He wants to feel her skin against his, hold her body against his and press kisses to her cheeks. He wants to curl up with her and breathe her in, be reminded of that security and safety.

It’s not that easy to fall out of love with a person, even if they did break your heart.

…

“I’m worried about Awsten.”

Otto sighs, glancing up from his sandwich. “Whaddya want me ta do, Geoff? His girlfriend cheated on him. He’s in hell. That’s not surprising.”

“He cries at night, Otto!” Geoff snaps. “And you saw what happened in the middle of 21 Questions last night. He’s a _mess_.”

“Yeah, that’s why we’re cuttin’ that and Powerless until he’s ready,” Otto replies. “But Geoff…we just gotta let him feel it. There’s nothing else we can do.”

“There has to be,” Geoff mutters. “There has to be some way to fix it.”

“What, like go back in time and keep that bitch from fuckin’ another guy?” Otto deadpans. “He got his heart broken, Geoff. He’s hurting. That’s okay. It’s normal. He’ll feel shitty for a few weeks and then it’ll get easier. That’s what happens with heartbreak. It’s not forever.”

“I wish he didn’t havta feel it at all.”

Otto looks up at him quizzically. “Geoff…please don’t tell me you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking…this is literally the _worst_ time for that…”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Geoff mumbles. “I can’t help it. I’m not gonna say anything.”

“He can’t deal with this right now,” Otto tells him. “He’s still in love with her, y’know? If you say anything you’ll completely destroy him.”

“She broke him.” Geoff slides into the chair next to his and begins drumming his fingers on the table. “He’s not in love with her. She broke his heart.”

“He was talkin’ about _marrying_ her, Geoff,” Otto argues. “That’s not somethin’ you get over in a day. And even if he does say yes…do you really wanna be a rebound?”

“No,” Geoff says hotly. “And he won’t say yes, because I’m not saying _anything_.”

“Keep it that way. Because if he finds out it’ll be chaos.”

…

It hurts.

It hurts so much, all the time, a constant lump in his throat that throbs every so often and releases a new dose of pain through his veins. It’s unpredictable. He’s fine one minute and the next he’s on stage trying to make it through 21 Questions and not being able to sing part of the song because he doesn’t wanna cry into the microphone.

Maybe cutting those songs was for the best.

He never wanted them to be known as ‘Waterparks, that sad ass band’, but here he is, crying on stage, having too many breakdowns over his breakup, unable to separate his feelings from every performance. And it’s good to feel, it’s good for things to be raw and emotional and full of feeling, but not when that feeling is injected into songs he wrote months ago, given a new meaning by people making old mistakes.

Everyone told him it was a bad idea and he didn’t listen. He thought he’d be different. She cheated on her last boyfriend _with_ him, and he was stupid. He was stupid to ever think that made him different, that she loved him enough to cheat _with_ him on someone, so maybe that love would be enough to keep his heart safe.

It didn’t.

He let his guard down and now he’s here, now he’s trying to figure out how to rebuild. It’s not like putting broken pieces of a puzzle back together. It’s being burned to the ground and left with the ashes because you can’t fucking put ashes back together he can’t put himself back together he has to rebuild he has to start from the ground up but does he even want to.

Does he even want to?

It doesn’t feel worth it.

He took a risk with her, put himself completely out there and tried something new. He forced himself out of his comfort zone and put his all eggs in one basket and it worked. At least he thought it did. 

He took a risk and thought it worked but it didn’t it backfired just like everything else and now he doesn’t know what to do he doesn’t know where to go he gave her everything she threw it away she threw him away he meant nothing to her hemeantnothinghemeantfuckingnothing.

The door to the bus slams open. He shoves his earbuds further into his ears and presses the button on his phone to turn up the volume. He doesn’t want to see anyone. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone. He’s in his bunk in the dark and that’s where he wants to stay. 

He’s glad everyone went out. They deserve to have fun without the basket case who feels too much. They wanted to stay but he knew it wouldn’t end well. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone. He doesn’t want to be around anyone. Even if they didn’t go, having them around, having them watching his every move…he feels suffocated enough as it is.

He wishes he didn’t make a promise to himself not to drink. This would probably be the only valid time to numb everything with alcohol. He’d be justified in getting shitfaced, losing all control, going completely off the deep end. He wishes he could. He wishes he didn’t have a conscience.

He wishes he didn’t have a brain. The marathons it runs all night, playing back every promise she’s made like a masochistic movie, keep him awake until morning when he’s “woken up” at the asscrack of dawn with dried tear tracks on his cheeks and red eyes that burn every time he blinks.

The latest on Instagram is that she has a new boyfriend. She’s moved on. Already. It didn’t hurt her. She doesn’t miss him. She doesn’t care about what she did she doesn’t care she never cared none of it was real she never cared the way he did she never loved the way he did she didn’t care sheleftshecheatedshe’sgone.

“Aws?”

He squeezes his eyes shut and shimmies down under his covers, pulling the blankets over his face. Just in time too, because the curtain squeaks open. He freezes, trying to stay as still as possible. 

He holds position for another five seconds and in that time the curtain squeaks closed. He inhales, keeping his eyes closed, and rolls onto his side, biting his lip to hold the sob back.

“He’s out.”

“Aw, good. He needs ta sleep. Stop thinkin’ ‘bout her for a night.”

“Yeah.”

“He’ll be better tomorrow.”

That’s Otto. He sounds hopeful.

He has no idea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys so much for the feedback last chapter! i'm glad you're enjoying this! 
> 
> awsten has a panic attack in this chapter, so if that's triggering i'd skip starting from ciara's tweet

They’re at a truckers lounge in the middle of nowhere and they still have four hours to go until they reach the venue. 

He’s starting to think being at home would be arguably so much worse than this because being alone with his thoughts, going over and over it in his head, would be constant. He has shows and meet and greets and friends to distract him here; he’s not locked in his room hiding from everything and even though that’s where part of him wants to be he knows this is more productive.

Geoff and Otto and Zakk and Jawn and everyone else are getting food and he’s sitting in the empty wash room. He’s alone but he’s not because he has his thoughts as company and that’s like having his worst enemy sitting beside him. She may as well be here, going through the laundry list of reasons he’s horrible as some kind of fucked up excuse for fucking someone else.

He has to sing 21 Questions tonight. Maybe not Powerless, but 21 Questions is a fan favorite and they weren’t too happy about it being cut. So it has to stay on the setlist and he has to play it and listen to the crowd scream it back at him and try not to start sobbing in the middle.

She got tired of his time. She dropped him and took another guy on. Everything he was worried about while they were together was valid. He told himself to stop worrying and enjoy the moment but now he knows he had reason to worry and reason to be wary because nothing is ever as good as it seems. Nothing is pure good; the universe doesn’t care about him that much.

He blinks and bites down on his lip. It’s that ache, the one you feel behind your eyes and throughout your skull because you want to cry and you need to cry but it doesn’t want to come no matter how big the lump in your throat is. He coughs dryly, a hand on his chest. There’s a fire in there, stoked every time the emotion builds up and up, waiting for the point of no return when everything goes too far and he burns to the ground.

He wants a drink.

Geoff says vodka burns going down and tastes like rubbing alcohol. It hurts like a bitch but when it works it works and everything floats away. Every time Geoff’s got drunk off vodka he’s woken up the next morning not remembering _shit_ and Awsten would _kill_ for that right about now.

A vodka infused tidal wave to wipe his memory of the last year and a half. Forget about her and the promises they made and the dreams they had and the thought they would last forever. 

He reaches for his guitar and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

He can’t drink, but he _can_ write.

The lyrics that come out of this breakup may be the only good thing about it.

…

“You sure Aws didn’t want anythin’?”

Geoff shakes his head, swirling his straw around in his drink. “He said he wanted ta be alone.”

Otto whistles, sliding into the hard metal chair across from him with his own cup. “Did someone tell him about-”

“Yeah,” Jawn mutters. “It’s such fuckin’ bullshit. If they knew why he doesn’t wanna sing it they wouldn’t make him.”

“’Least he doesn’t havta do Powerless too.”

“Nah, they’re makin’ him do it.”

“He wrote so much about her, fuck, he never saw this comin’.”

“None of us did.”

Geoff stares down at his lap. None of them saw this coming for a millisecond. Awsten and Ciara were the stable ones. They were supposed to last. They were supposed to get married and have lots of pretty babies and be stupidly in love until death did them part. 

He told himself that for months, convinced himself nothing would happen with Awsten, ever, because he was straight and in love with Ciara and this stupid crush was just that; a stupid crush that could never be anything more. Awsten had a girlfriend and he was happy and there was no room in his life for the naive guitarist who believed he had a chance with a fuckin’ schoolyard crush.

And now there’s a sinking in his stomach and nausea in his throat because he remembers all the times he _wished_ they would break up, he _hoped_ she’d fuck everything up so he could swoop in and pick up the pieces, he _grinned_ at the thought of them having problems because it meant he actually had some semblance of a chance.

He got his wish, they’re no longer together, but knowing the circumstances and the reason why and watching Awsten go through what is potentially the worst breakdown he’s ever had…

He’s the worst person alive.

…

“I wrote a song,” are the first words out of Awsten’s mouth when Geoff plops down on the couch beside him and slings an arm around his shoulders. 

He doesn’t know how to feel about that. Awsten’s songs are always brilliant _What We Do For Fun, Hawaii, Crave, Little Violence_ but always sad as shit _Royal, Dizzy, 21 Questions, Blonde_ and he’s not he’s ready to face what this breakup has churned out, a breakup he _wished for_ for months. 

Awsten shrinks into himself slightly, bringing his shoulders down, and hands his phone to Geoff. Geoff takes his arm away from his shoulders and flicks through the screen. His stomach flips as his eyes travel further and further down the screen because while the lyrics are _genius_ like they always are they’re so fucking _sad_ , so fucking raw, jam-packed with every emotion this breakup’s drawn out of him.

Anxiety, depression, tough love, breakdown, _worst_. He swallows hard and hands Awsten his phone back. 

How the fuck could he have ever _wished_ for this?

“It’s kinda a mess,” Awsten continues. His voice sounds foreign. Far off and distant. He’s staring at the floor. “But I think it…I needed ta get it out. Stop holdin’ back. I, um. I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately. I’m sorry you and Otto have had ta take the heat for me. I’ll be fine tonight.”

“Aws, you know we don’t-”

Awsten shakes his head. “It’s my fault. For letting her become everything. I should’ve seen it coming.”

He opens his mouth to answer but Awsten’s clearly done with the conversation. He stands, sets his guitar on the ground, and retreats back into the bunk area. Geoff hears the squeak of a bunk curtain closing a couple moments later.

He slumps into the couch, closing his eyes.

Fuck.

…

 **@ciarahanna20** : I have so much more memory in my phone now 

**3:02 PM – 15 Nov 2017**

He hits the button to lock his phone and tosses it onto the couch. His stomach is rolling. His heart is racing. He lifts a clammy hand to take off his glasses and covers his face with his hands. His skin becomes saturated with liquid quickly, hands sliding off his face. He rubs them forcefully on his jeans and bites his lip, staring at the chipping paint on the wall. 

Water blurs his vision and he closes his eyes. The tears roll down his cheeks coolly, falling down his chin and clinging to his neck. He swipes a hand across the bottom of his chin and it comes back just as damp. 

He can’t breathe.

He brings a hand to his chest and keeps his eyes closed. The world is spinning even though he can’t see it. He feels like he’s teetering on the edge of a cliff, unable to balance, just about to fall. 

He tries inhaling. He focuses all his attention on drawing in a breath however deep, but he sucks in too much air too quickly and coughs violently, pressing the hand against his chest to staunch some of the pain.

He opens his eyes and knows immediately that he shouldn’t have.

The walls are closing in. 

The space around him is getting smaller and smaller, the walls are coming closer and closer, he can’t breathe he can’t move he can’t think it’s all coming closer closerclosercloser he’s going to die he’s going to suffocate and die diediediediedie. 

He staggers to his feet. Black spots are distorting his already burry vision. He stumbles for the door, wobbling and almost falling a few times, still unable to control the vertigo. 

He needs to get out he needs to go he can’t be here he can’t breathe it’s wrong everything’s wrong it’s all wrong wrongwrongwrong he needs to go he can’t breathehecan’tbreathehecan’tfuckingbreathe.

“Awsten!”

“Aws, hey, you okay?”

Hands plant firmly onto his shoulders and he freezes. He squirms away. A shiver runs through his whole body. His shoulders are stinging, burning from the touch. 

Voices. 

There are so many voices so many people they’re everywhere he can’t get out they won’t move he can’t move he can’t get out he can’t breathe. 

“Aws? Awsten, can you look at me? It’s Geoff. Everything’s gonna be fine, just focus on me, okay? Watch me.”

He blinks rapidly. His knees feel weak. They won’t hold him up much longer. 

It’s too loud everything’s too loud too loud too loud too loud he can’t breathe.

He sees it. A hand coming for him, in his peripheral vision, and he flinches violently. “N-no…d-don’t…touch…”

“Okay.” Geoff drops his hand and crouches slightly. “I won’t touch you. Can you try and breathe with me? Watch me. Copy me.” He exaggerates the up-and-down movement of his chest while continuing to murmur sweet nothings.

He tries.

He tries to imitate Geoff, hand on his still-hurting chest. His vision is starting to clear. His heart is starting to slow. He feels it, the adrenaline leaving, the exhaustion replacing it. He feels all of it.

He’s falling.

A pair of arms catches him, holding him in place, and he breathes out, slumping forward and letting his body go limp.

“You okay?”

His head is still spinning. Geoff’s voice still sounds far away.

“Yeah,” he chokes out. Geoff pushes him upright and takes a step back, keeping his hands out and hovering inches away from his waist. “S-sorry…”

“No,” Geoff says. His voice is firm. Hardened. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Aws. But…that was really bad. You haven’t had one that bad in a long time.”

“I just, I saw a tweet,” Awsten says faintly. “She tweeted, I just, I don’t…”

“Aws, hey, stay with me.” Hands grabs his shoulders and hold him in place and he blinks. A blurry Geoff shimmers into view. He lets his head drop and hang down. Holding it up requires energy that he just can’t draw out of himself. “You needa lie down, man. C’mon.”

Geoff leads him onto the bus. He’s doing the steering, the walking, the supporting. Awsten is just trying to concrete on keeping his legs moving.

Geoff pulls open his bunk curtain and helps him sit down. His spine is straight for all of two seconds before he’s slumping onto the mattress and bringing his knees to his chest.

“Take a nap, Aws,” Geoff tells him. “Soundcheck’s not for another couple hours. And if you’re not feelin’ up to it…we can cancel, y’know? Reschedule. The fans will understand.”

“No,” he mumbles. “M’okay. No cancelin’.”

“We’ll see how you feel in a couple hours, okay?” Geoff says. He straightens and turns away.

“Don’t leave,” Awsten whispers. “Please.”

He can’t wake up alone. He can’t be by himself. He can’t wake up alone in this tiny bunk. It’s too small and too cramped and too fucking suffocating.

When they first started living in a tour bus, Geoff would crawl in with him every night. He’d push his head into Geoff’s shoulder and breathe out and try to remind himself that this is what he’d wanted for so long, worked so hard for for years, that the benefits outweighed being away from home and out of his carefully structured routine and thrust into the life of a touring musician.

Expecting that to happen again, his stomach sinks when Geoff nods and plops down on the floor between the bunks Indian style, pulling his phone out of the pocket of his jeans.

Why isn’t he crawling in with him?

Did he do something wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? like i said before, it's hard to be 100% accurate, but i'm doing all kinds of research to make sure timelines line up and shit, so i hope it translates well. next chapter, awsten releases worst and geoff's pining starts to cause some real issues. the more comments i get, the quicker you get the next chapter.
> 
> thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed.


	3. Chapter 3

He’s thinking he should just stay off Twitter.

Or at least stop searching their names and scrolling through until he’s seen each tweet at least three times. 

There’s so much love; they’re trying to trend hashtags and tweet cute messages and profess their love and it’s sweet, but they’re also telling her to kill herself and calling her a whore and sending her death threats and while he shouldn’t be bothered by it, while he shouldn’t care…part of him still cares about her and with each tweet he reads his stomach turns a little more.

He wants her to suffer but he doesn’t want _this_. She deserves hell for what she did but no one deserves an army of relentless angry fans spamming their Instagram comments and twitter mentions with promises of murder. 

He’s still so tired. His head is throbbing. He played the show last night but couldn’t even try to hide his tears. Geoff, bless his motherfucking heart, did most of the talking and hyping the crowd up. He tried his best and it was barely enough and he collapsed in his bunk afterward and fell asleep to a damp pillow and tear tracks staining his cheeks.

They have another show to play tonight and then tomorrow off. He wishes it were switched. He doesn’t want to leave his bunk today. The headache is so bad. He’s never had one this bad before. It’s migraine status, pounding right behind his eyes and pulsating painfully whenever he lifts his head.

He closes Twitter and opens his Notes app, navigating to the lyrics he wrote days ago. 

They’re not bad. They’re not bad at all. They’re rough and messy but that’s the beauty of it. Raw, unpolished, pure emotion. When he recorded it that’s what it became. His voice isn’t as strong as usual and the track isn’t as clean and studio-produced as it would be if he were producing it in an actual studio, but it’s _honest_. It’s messy and fragmented because he’s living in that world.

Nothing makes sense right now. His world is messy and fragmented and confusing and he feels betrayed and abandoned and lonely and so many more things that he can’t sort through long enough to distinguish a distinct emotion from. It’s all a jumble, mish mash of too many feelings that he poured into that song and he’s so fucking proud of it. It’s sad and shitty and his throat starts to close every time he reads through the lyrics but he managed to take a feeling so confusing and put it into words, managed to immortalize the feeling which may not be the best idea because he knows it’ll become a song he puts on repeat whenever he has a bad day.

He wants the fans to hear it. He wants them to know what’s going on, to know why he keeps crying on stage every night and what exactly happened between them. They deserve that much. They’re so worried about him. 

He gets flurries of tweets asking if he’s okay and hears them screaming their love at shows and meets some at meet and greets who look at him with worry in their eyes and hug him a little longer and hold on a little tighter, communicating unspoken concern. 

They deserve to know the truth.

He swings his legs over the edge of the bunk and winces as the blood rushes to his head when he moves too fast. He grabs a shirt off the floor and pulls it over his head, and then slips his feet into a pair of boots. 

When he stands he wobbles a bit, unsteady. Holding a hand to his head, he stumbles into the lounge and grabs his Macbook off the table. He slips it into the messenger bag draped across one of the chairs and hefts that over his shoulder, and then walks down the aisle and off the bus. 

There’s a Starbucks just up the road.

Soundcheck is in two hours.

He’s got enough time.

…

“Holy shit.”

“Did he just-”

“Is _this_ what he’s been doin’ while we’ve been goin’ out?”

Geoff stares. He flicks the screen up and down, switching from the video to the comments. It’s a black screen, no lyrics, no edits, nothing. The recording is so simple; just Awsten and a guitar with a little more production. He can even hear the rumbling of their generator in the background.

“Geoff, do you know anything about this?”

His skin is burning. His throat feels too big for his tongue as he answers, “He didn’t…he told me he wrote it, but I didn’t…he never said anything about actually uploading it…”

“Fuck.”

“It’s so sad… It’s really good, but so fuckin’ heavy, holy shit…”

“Is he gonna get hell from management for this?”

“It’s unlisted. He tweeted the link and deleted it right after. I think he should be fine.”

“You know they screenshotted the shit outta everything though.”

“We can’t control that.”

“Shit, have you listened to these lyrics? Anxiety is real, depression’s very heavy, I wear them both inside my hoodie, wear them out to get me…” Otto recites. He trails off at the end and scrolls down. “Am I dealing with a breakup or a breakdown, _dealing with this shit sober’s got me fucked up_.”

“He’s not okay.”

“He’s anything _but_ okay.”

“Geoff?” 

He swallows. Everyone in the room is looking at him. Squirming, he rubs the back of his neck and shifts his weight between both feet. “He, um. He had a panic attack yesterday. I was comin’ back to the bus and he just stepped off. He was crying. He said his chest hurt. He couldn’t breathe. That’s why he was a little off last night.”

“Oh, _fuck_ …”

“I’ll talk to him,” Geoff adds. “I saw it, he showed me the lyrics, he’ll take it best from me.” He looks around, past the lounge and into the bunk area. “Is he still out?”

“Yeah.”

“Where’d he even _go_?”

“Somewhere with wifi.”

“I’m gonna go find him.”

“Geoff-”

“We have soundcheck in less than two hours,” he deadpans. “He couldn’t have gone far.”

…

Awsten sips his drink, staring at his laptop.

He unlisted the video. Maybe that’ll keep management from getting pissed at him. The fans already have screenshots and the link is already circulating. Everyone’s confused. He doesn’t blame them. They’ll put the pieces together soon enough.

“Fuck, there you are.”

He freezes in the middle of a mouthful of mocha, wincing as the hot liquid scalds his tongue. “Shit, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you. We have soundcheck soon,” Geoff says, setting his own drink on the table in front of them. 

“I know,” Awsten mutters. “M’not an idiot. I would’ve been back way before.”

“We saw the song,” Geoff tells him, bringing his cup to his lips. “Everyone’s freaking out.”

He shrugs. They don’t have a reason to freak out. He wrote a song, recorded it, did the production, and now he’s putting it out. It’s his song, his vocals, his instrumentals, all his. Management better not have a problem with it and if Geoff does he can shove it up his ass. “I wanted the fans to hear it.”

“No one’s criticizing you, Aws,” Geoff sighs. “We’re worried. We wanna know if you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.” 

He doesn’t know when he turned into a liar.

“Bullshit,” Geoff mutters. “I wasn’t born yesterday. We’ve been friends forever. I know you.”

“So why the fuck are you askin’ then?” Awsten snaps. “If you already know, what’s the point?” He feels hot. His heart is pounding. He crosses one leg over the other and takes another sip of mocha, closing his eyes. 

“The point is that you’re in the middle of a breakdown and we don’t wanna sit here and just _watch_ , Awsten!” Geoff retorts. “We’re your _friends_. Let us in. Let us help. You don’t havta do this alone.”

“Help?” He chuckles, although nothing about the situation is funny. “My girlfriend fucked another guy. _Three_ other guys. Or maybe it was the same guy, three different times. Whatever. How the fuck are you supposed ta help with that?”

“Don’t do that,” Geoff grumbles. “I hate when you do that.”

“Do _what_?” He growls. “Feel something? Have a bad day? I don’t know what the fuck you want from me, Geoff.”

“I want you to _talk_ to me!” Geoff throws his hands up in the air. “I want you not ta sit in your damn bunk every night and cry, Awsten! We can _all_ hear it, you’re not hidin’ anything. We know you’re a goddamn mess. We’ve just been waitin’ for you ta admit it. But you’re not gonna do that and then you do _this_ …” He shakes his head. “You can’t expect us, you can’t expect _me_ to sit back and watch as you spiral downward.”

“Well,” Awsten replies, shoving his laptop into his bag as he stands. He crushes the coffee cup between his fingers. “If you don’t wanna watch, you’re free ta leave. I won’t miss you.”

…

He storms back to the bus and slams the door when he gets inside, ignoring Otto and Jawn and Zakk calling for him. He practically rips open the curtain of his bunk and shuts it tightly, curling into his sheets and bringing his legs up to his chest.

Fuck them. Fuck them all. He’s trying so hard to be okay, trying so hard to not let it destroy him, and all they see him as is a basket case that’s gonna crack any second. He’s a ticking time bomb, could explode any second, and they’re armoring their chests and preparing for the wreckage. 

Spiraling downward.

He’s not spiraling downward. He’s writing and coping and waking up every morning and he may not do it with a smile on his face but he’s _doing it_. He’s _surviving_ , doing more than just surviving, he’s trying to _live_. He’s forcing a smile on his face and hyping up the crowd and playing 21 Questions and Powerless and Stupid for You and holding in his tears and choking back the sobs, going out there every night and being vulnerable and exposed and _singing_ when all he wants to do is shut himself in his room and cry.

He’s trying to move on. He’s trying to keep going. He’s trying to push through. He’s trying to make it work but nothing works if everyone around him keeps looking at him like he’s china on the edge of a shelf.

Everyone’s watching. Waiting. Wondering when he’s finally going to be pushed past his limit and have that breakdown they keep going on about. They’re waiting for him to have a breakdown. 

They’re waiting for him to fall apart while he’s trying so hard to put himself back together.

And tears are burning his eyes and there is a lump in his throat and his stomach is twisting in knots but the thought of letting them see that, the thought of giving them the satisfaction of knowing he _is_ on the verge of a breakdown makes him sick. 

And he cries. The tears soak uncomfortably into the fabric of his jeans and dribble down his cheeks in steady rivulets and don’t stop once they’ve started, and he cries. He chokes and cries and crunches down on his lip to keep sobs from escaping. 

More tears bubble up his throat and he whimpers, the sound catching in his throat. He can’t stop. It won’t stop. 

It’s all too much, like everything that’s happened in the past couple weeks was balled up and pressed into his chest, leaking tears that spark a waterfall. The tour and the album and arguing with Geoff and not being able to enjoy everything and getting bad again, worse than he’s been in a long time.

And she’s at the crux of it.

Maybe their band name means something after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? thank you guys so much for all the comments. please, keep them coming. you have no idea how motivating they truly are. next chapter's not written yet, but i wanted to get this up for you guys. i have finals right now and i'm basically in hell so i don't really have the time to write...next chapter at latest you'll have by the middle of next week. the more you comment, the more i actually feel like working on this, so please.
> 
> also the lucky people video broke me i cried like six times i love awsten so much. 
> 
> thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed.


	4. Chapter 4

He’s gorgeous when he sleeps.

He’s beautiful all the time, but particularly serene when he’s off in another world. Eyes closed, eyelashes brushing gently against his cheeks, peaceful smile on his face, he’s calm and relaxed and _safe_ , and it is the best breath of fresh air.

Geoff’s bunk is right across Awsten’s. When Awsten cries at night he gets the full auditory experience. No matter how high he turns the volume up on his phone he can always hear the choked, gut-wrenching sobs, the guttural cries that take every ounce of his self-control not to confront Awsten about.

There are dried tear tracks on his cheeks and his hair is sticking up in clumps, but he looks like he’s having a good dream. He looks like he’s in a world better than the real one, a world where he’s not fighting with his best friend who completely overstepped every boundary they’ve set over the past six years.

Awsten _is_ fragile. He’s too stubborn and has too much pride to admit it, but his exterior is made of glass that’s dangerously close to shattering. He functions through a series of timed breakdowns, forcing himself to be on and okay all day and letting himself fall apart all night. It’s unhealthy and awful and exhausting and Geoff _wishes_ he would just admit he needs help. He can’t do this alone and it doesn’t make him weak or helpless; it makes him _human_.

During the day, you’d almost think nothing was wrong. He’s perfected his act so when they do interviews or meet fans or go out to eat it seems like he’s fine. And he is, in the moment. He’s fine until everything stops and they’re in the bus driving eight hours and he has time to think and one thing leads to another and then he’s breaking down again.

And fuck, Geoff wishes he didn’t do that, wishes he went about coping in a healthier way, wishes he wasn’t such a fucking workaholic because that is the bane of Awsten’s existence. He is obsessed with his work and sometimes that’s a good thing but most of the time it’s sacrificing sleep and not confronting emotions and bottling everything up and forcing himself to get over things that take time. It’s not living, it’s just surviving, surviving until a breakdown, surviving until the bottle of emotion gets too full and pops its top and everything goes to shit.

Geoff wishes he’d talk about things more. When it comes to feelings he shuts down and yeah, he writes about them, but that’s still burying himself inside his head and being overwhelmed by how bad he feels. Mad All The Time is a fan favorite but people don’t really _listen_ to the lyrics because if they did they’d realize how physically and emotionally and mentally draining songwriting is for Awsten. The pretty melodies and genius lyrics don’t come out of nowhere.

None of this is news to him. Awsten has been this way for years, since before they were friends, probably his entire life. It’s not new and it’s not out of the ordinary and he shouldn’t have called Awsten on it the way he did because all that accomplished was pushing him further away. If he knows they’re all looking at him like they think he’s gonna break he’s gonna put even more effort into seeming fine when he’s not so basically Geoff just fucked things up even more than they already are.

Awsten looks so good, all the time. With his lilac hair and new necklace and those big sweaters he drapes himself in, he’s fucking adorable. And every night on stage, he’s growling into the microphone and giggling like mad and making fun of the audience and Geoff is running back and forth across the stage because it’s the only way to keep the last shred of self-control.

And then there are the nights he wears tank tops that show off his muscles and his hair drips into his eyes and he’s downright _irresistible_. And it takes every last _ounce_ of reserve not to slam him into a wall and kiss him like there’s no tomorrow.

He _wants_ Awsten. He’s known that for a while, known that there was one last piece missing from his life, known he’ll never feel truly happy and fulfilled no matter how far their band goes because he _needs_ this.

Watching Awsten the past few weeks in the heartbroken haze he’s fallen into is making it so much worse because all Geoff wants to do is wrap him in the biggest hug and kiss his tears away and press ‘you deserved betters’ into his skin. 

Because he did.

He deserved so much better.

…

“Can we talk?”

Fuck, not again.

He pulls his earbuds out and presses the button on the side of his phone to lock it. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Geoff told me what happened.” Otto uses his hands to push himself onto the edge of his bunk. “He also said ta tell you he’s sorry.”

Awsten rolls his eyes. “If he’s so sorry why couldn’t he tell me himself?”

“He feels like shit about it,” Otto answers. “He told me what he said and…he could’ve been less of an ass about it, but he was right, Aws. We’re all worried about you. We wanna help. Why won’t you let us?”

“I don’t _need_ help,” Awsten mutters. He reaches for one of the fallen earbuds. “I’m fine, okay? I’m coping. I’ll get over it eventually. Y’all just gotta stay the fuck out of it. I don’t need you all over me.”

“You’re not coping.” Otto reaches forward and yanks his earbuds out of his phone. He balls them up in his fist and Awsten stares at him, grasping for the cord. 

“What the fuck, man?”

“You’re not coping,” Otto repeats. “Just like you weren’t when you found out about me and Grace. You’re gettin’ choked up on stage and crying in your bunk and looking at old pictures and scrolling through her Instagram and suffocating yourself with the memories. That’s not coping, that’s shit. And we wanna help, man. If you’d just fuckin’ _talk_ to us instead of shutting yourself in here.” He exhales heavily. “And Geoff, fuck Awsten, he cares about you. He cares so much. Don’t you think it hurts him, hurts _all_ of us, to see you like this?”

“What are you gonna do?” Awsten asks quietly. “It’s my relationship. My breakup. How are you supposed ta help? Yeah you love me and care about me and are always gonna be there for me, whatever. I don’t want that bullshit. It doesn’t help. I just…I just needa be alone, don’t you get that?”

“Come out with us,” Otto says. “Please? Carter and Kourtney wanted to check out this club downtown. Patty and the guys are down. Just come, please? I think it’ll help.”

“I doubt that.”

“Come anyway.”

…

Drunk people are hilarious.

It never gets old, watching them stumble and giggle and try to form coherent sentences about how _not_ inebriated they are. 

It’s interesting to see what kind of drunk everyone is. Geoff is a mix of affectionate and sad; you get his entire life story while he hangs onto your body and whines about cuddling. Ben and Patrick and Alistair are more rowdy, not necessarily violent, but loud and rambunctious, rum splashing everywhere and fists in the air and clumsy dancing. 

Awsten sips at his root beer, watching as Otto leads Geoff away from the bar and over to the side of the room, to the couches. Geoff’s been drinking ever since they got there. He’s beyond wasted, barely able to stand straight, let alone walk in a line. Normally, Awsten would be by his side, making sure he doesn’t ingest too much and watching every drink be made in case someone slips something into it. Otto can handle that for a night. Policing Geoff when he’s drinking involves expending more energy than he cares to use.

“Oh man, he’s already gone.” There’s a hand on his shoulder and he turns his head, lifting the bottle to his lips once again.

Awsten shrugs. “He’s Otto’s problem tonight.”

“Aren’t you guys filming that bus tour thing tomorrow?” Patty asks, tilting his own glass to his lips.

“Yeah,” Awsten replies. “He’s gonna be real hungover for it. Sucks ta be him.”

“You good?” Patty drains his glass and turns back to the bar. “Can I have another Sprite, please?”

“We’re fine,” Awsten says. “Justa stupid fight. S’nothing.”

“I wasn’t askin’ about you and Geoff.” Patty stretches an arm out to sling around his shoulders. Awsten bites his lip and pulls his shoulders down and into his body. “We all know about Ciara, mate. Just wanted ta-”

“Don’t.”

“Awsten-”

“Don’t say her name.” 

“It sucks,” Patty says. “I know it does. But you can’t shut everyone out. It’ll hurt for a while and then it won’t anymore and then maybe six months from now you’ll see something or hear something and it’ll start hurting all over again. That’s just how this shit works. But if you lock yourself up inside your sadness you’re just makin’ it worse.”

…

“Awwwwssssss!”

Awsten stops. A cold feeling is beginning to spread throughout his body. His heart is beating fast. His hands feel clammy. “What, Geoff?”

“Where you goin’?” Geoff slurs. Awsten turns around just in time to grab him, keep him from hitting the ground. Either he’s had more to drink or he drank a ton to begin with. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Geoff this wasted. “The party…the party’s just gettin’…startedddd…”

“You’re drunk,” Awsten says impatiently. “The party’s over. It’s almost two in the morning and you’re drunk as a fucking skunk, Geoff. You gotta sleep this off.”

“Me, drunk? Nooooooo…” All his words are blurring together. He’s getting heavier and heavier, not supporting any of his weight. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Awsten emphasizes. He peels Geoff off him and holds him in place to keep him steady. “C’mon. Let’s get you on the bus.”

“You’re prettyyyyy…”

“You’re drunk,” he repeats. He rolls his eyes and takes Geoff’s hand, dragging him forward. There’s only one solution for when Geoff gets like this. He’ll get him into the bus, force some water down his throat, manhandle him into his bunk, set some painkillers out for him, and hope tomorrow morning’s hangover isn’t too much of a bitch. They have to film the bus tour and Geoff has to be on for it. The ‘I’m sorry I got real fuckin’ drunk off my ass last night and can’t stop puking’ excuse won’t work.

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...shit's about to get real. next chapter deals with the aftermath and they film the bus invaders video, which, i'm gonna try and stick as close to the real thing as i can, but what happened in this chapter is definitely gonna impact it. the more comments i get, the quicker you get the chapter.
> 
> thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay this chapter is a lot shorter and i'm sorry but i had to end it where i did for next chapter to flow properly i'm sorry
> 
> no real trigger warnings except geoff feels the effects off his lil drinking binge and pukes, so if you're bothered by that you can skip the first scene

He blinks, catches the tiniest glimpse of light, and immediately squeezes his eyes shut. 

The ache is big, loud, and throbbing. His bunk curtain is closed; he can see it even with his eyes closed, see the shadows shift with the smallest movement of his head. He stops as quick as he starts. It’s like a thousand sharp knives digging into his skull, piercing and ripping, digging deeper the more he moves his head.

His body is getting heavier; he’s just barely poking his head around the corner to the abyss of sleep, and then the world _screeches_ , nails on a chalkboard, seven cats getting their tails stepped on, cars skidding to a rushed halt. 

“Geoff, man, you gotta get up. The people from Bus Invaders are gonna be here in an hour.”

Why is Otto screaming at him why is everything so loud it hurts everything hurts he feels sick he’s gonna puke oh fuck he’s nauseous he’sgonnapukehe’sgonnapukehe’sgonnapuke fuckfuckfuck.

He forces himself to open his eyes and keep them open even though it stings and burns and hurts so fucking _bad_ everything hurts his body feels like it’s on fire. He stumbles out of his bunk and down the aisle, out of the bus and kneels in the grass. 

Liquid surges through his stomach and barrels up his throat and then he’s vomiting. The heaves tear up his throat and bring tears to his eyes and he keeps them closed. The sunlight is so much worse than artificial lighting in the bus.

“Jesus christ.”

He feels the presence before he hears the voice. Otto drops down beside him and begins to rub his back. The alcohol just keeps coming and coming back up. He heaves again at the smell. He can’t look. He can’t look closing his eyes hurts tensing any muscle brings thousands of sharp stingers to his head he can’t do this hecan’thecan’thecan’t.

“You done?”

He nods but doesn’t lift his head. Otto hands him a tissue and he wipes his mouth, keeping his eyes closed.

“I don’t know what the fuck happened last night and I honestly don’t want to,” Otto continues. “But Awsten hasn’t left his bunk since he got you in yours last night and he won’t talk to any of us. I don’t know what the fuck you did, but you better do something about it before the cameras get here.”

Otto stands and he hears the bus door open and slam shut. He swallows and screws up his face at the vomit aftertaste. 

What the _fuck_ happened last night?

… 

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale. 

Exhale.

His head is heavy. His face feels stiff from the dried tears. There’s an ache right behind his eyes, pressing into the front of his skull, a pocket of tears held in a very thin membrane, dangerously close to ripping. 

He didn’t sleep. He didn’t try. His heart was beating too fast and his mind wouldn’t even _slow down_ , let alone shut off. 

CiaraGeoffCiaraGeofflovecheaterlovetoughlovedepressionanxietyworstworstworst.

He breathes in and holds it. It makes his chest feel tight. He exhales the breath raggedly and closes his eyes. 

It’s not true. Geoff was just drunk. He was drunk and he didn’t know what he was saying and he’s an overly affectionate drunk he was drunk that’s all it was he was drunk hewasdrunkhewasdrunkhewasdrunk.

It’s not real it’s not true he didn’t mean it he couldn’t have meant it it’s not real he was drunk he was drunk, “he was drunk,” he whispers. It hurts to speak. His throat feels raw. When he swallows it feels like a thousand hot coals are housed in his throat, setting up a wall where his trachea connects to his esophagus. 

“You’re okay,” he tells himself. “Everything’s okay. _He was drunk_. You’re gonna get up, get dressed, do this bus tour, and it’s all gonna be okay.” The mini pep talk leaves a growing pit in his abdomen because drunk or not, his act just got so much more complicated. Acting okay is so much easier when there’s no tension between people on the bus. Because now he has to talk to Geoff and joke with Geoff and _be around_ Geoff like last night never happened. 

Herculean. 

…

Geoff and Otto are playing Mario Kart and he’s eating blueberries and it’s all okay. 

He’s watching from behind. The camera is focused on the TV. His hands are shaking and he’s trying to hide it with the blueberries but it’s not working because he keeps dropping them and stepping on them it’s okay it’s okay it’s not okay nothing is okay.

Geoff’s hair is messy and his eyes are red. He’s draped himself in layers; a t-shirt followed by a sweatshirt followed by his trademark denim jacket, with his Zelda necklace and jeans. He was probably hoping to hide the hangover with a bath in cologne and a nice pair of clothes but all Awsten can see is last night _hewasdrunkhewasdrunkhewasdrunk_. 

The race ends and ironically enough, Otto wins. The camera turns to him and he makes a show of shaking his head dramatically, turning back toward the bunk area. “ _Geoff_. Making me wrong.”

He goes on to explain the contents of their fridge and pantry, before they move onto the higher cabinets. He stands on tiptoe to open the door. “Yo actually, I brought some movies this time, ‘cause I saw there was a DVD player, and I was like ‘yo satellite stuff never works on these things, so.” He pauses and begins pulling DVDs out of the cabinet. “I got Mothman Prophecies, I got What Lies Beneath.” They’re mostly scary movies and he tells the cameras they were watching them together, their little group, but he was supposed to watch them on Skype with her and the hole in his chest is starting to tear open again and he’s biting his lip and hoping it doesn’t show on his face. 

He moves over to the desk area, right in front of the bunks, and leans against the table. “This is the first time we’ve got to bring like, recording shit, on a tour, um, it’s all in that bunk right now, but um, it’s been nice to have like, a setup.” He gestures to the table, “to be able to actually do that while we’re out, ‘cause it’s never been a thing before. It’s always like, voice memos ‘till I get home.”

He recorded worst here. Late that night, when everyone was out, with tears drying on his cheeks, fingers shaking so bad he could barely get the right chords, he recorded the song and edited it and produced it so having recording shit _is_ nice but at the same time he wishes it was just shitty voice memos on his phone because it wouldn’t be an actual song, out there for everyone to see.

They move on to the bunks. When they get to his, he bites his lip and pulls the curtain back. _No tissues, no tissues, please no tissues_. And lucky for him, there are only a couple pillows, his lanyard to get into the venue, and of course, his phone. “It’s…dark. Um, I’m glad I found my phone. I was wondering if it was up there.”

He wasn’t. He doesn’t want to look at his phone he doesn’t want to think about his phone he doesn’t even want to hold his phone because all he does anymore is unlock it and navigate instinctively to their texts and what she said and how she told him she’s glad she cheated because staying with him, as fucked up as he is, was a literal nightmare he was a nightmare he was her nightmare he was a fucking nightmare.

He swallows. It stings.

He turns back to continue the tour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...we've got some issues. will geoff remember? will awsten say something? will this be the day otto gets tired of these two idiots' bullshit and leaves the band? find out next chapter lmao (actually: awsten keeps being sad, otto tries to get it out of him, geoff is clueless, and everyone is miserable)
> 
> i promise it gets better soon but i'm trying to be as realistic as i can trust me i want geoff to swoop in and kiss all of awsten's problems away just as much as you guys do but that's just not how life works lmao
> 
> the more comments i get, the quicker you get the chapter! thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year, guys. here's a new chapter to celebrate.

“Jesus Geoff, what the fuck did you _say_ to him?”

“I don’t know!” He runs a hand through his hair and slumps down on the couch behind him. “I can’t remember. The whole night is a blur.”

“Because you drank twice as much as you usually do.”

“I was _upset_.”

“So you decide to get blackout drunk? Like _that’ll_ solve your problems? Now we got even more shit to deal with.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Geoff blows out a sigh and tilts his head back. He closes his eyes and rubs a hand over his face.

There’s a black spot in his brain. That night is one huge fog, hazy and clouded and completely indistinguishable. He doesn’t know what happened. He doesn’t remember anything past getting to the bar and ordering that first drink. He did so many shots and ingested so much vodka that everything after is just one alcohol-infused tidal wave of nothingness.

He can’t confront Awsten. He could’ve said _anything_ from how bomb his dick is to the bad bouts of depression he fell into when he was younger. There’s so much Awsten doesn’t know, so much material for him to have confessed – he truly could’ve said anything. 

Whatever he _did_ say was clearly terrible if it’s hurt Awsten this much. Aside from onstage every night, Geoff’s barely seen him. He doesn’t leave his bunk until soundcheck and goes right back to it when they’re done, reappearing for Chapel’s performance and their own and coming out to get food with them (sometimes) before disappearing until they do it all over again the next day.

He fucked up but he doesn’t know how and he _definitely_ doesn’t know how to fix it. 

“I don’t know what ta do, Otto. Whatever I said fucked him up and I don’t wanna make it worse.”

Otto sighs. “I’ll talk to him. Maybe he’ll tell me.” 

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

Otto rounds on him with a glare. “Don’t do that. You fucked up. Don’t make shitty jokes about it not getting better ‘cause this might break us and it’ll be _your_ fault.”

…

He doesn’t know why it’s affecting him this much.

It was a stupid, drunken confession that probably didn’t even mean anything. Geoff drank way too much that night. He didn’t know what he was saying. He wasn’t thinking clearly. He wasn’t coherent. Awsten’s entire world should _not_ be turned upside down for a heat of the moment confession that probably wasn’t even _real_.

There’s just something about it. He can’t quite pinpoint what it is. Something about the cheek kisses on stage and innocent fanservice flirting and jokes in interviews that makes him question it. 

_He_ initiated all of that. 

It was stupid, meaningless stuff for the fans. 

Geoff’s quiet in interviews and doesn’t say much on stage and that’s always been part of his personality but he gets unnaturally quiet every time something like this happens and the more Awsten thinks about it the more he realizes Geoff definitely wasn’t kidding and it definitely wasn’t a heat of the moment and his bandmate for the past (almost) seven years could definitely be in love with him.

And that’s when it gets harder to breathe, when his chest feels tight and his airway begins to close and his head starts to spin and he has to close his eyes and remind himself hewasdrunkhewasdrunkhewasfuckingdrunk.

He was drunk.

It didn’t mean anything.

He was drunk.

 _He was drunk_.

…

“He’s still in his bunk?”

“Yeah.”

“Said he didn’t wanna talk.”

Otto exhales a heavy sigh, closing his eyes and reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Awsten’s been a shut-in since the breakup. They were getting him out of his shell. He _came out_ and partied and had a seemingly _good_ time. And then Geoff has to come in and say something stupid while he’s drunk and set back every step of their progress. 

“Where’s Geoff?”

“Playin’ Mario Kart in the back.”

And there’s problem number two. Geoff has no idea. He has no _clue_ what happened that night. He’s going on with his life like nothing’s wrong, because he doesn’t know _anything’s_ wrong. Awsten’s not talking and Geoff’s unaware and the rest of them are unsure of what to do. No one knows what Geoff said and therefore why Awsten is taking it so hard and asking about it is like talking to a brick wall. Awsten’s not budging and he’s the only one who knows anything so really, it’s all a giant mess.

He brings a hand to his temple and rubs. “I’m gonna talk to Aws.”

“He said he didn’t wanna see anyone.”

“I don’t really give a fuck,” he mutters. He makes his way into the bunk area and pulls Awsten’s curtain open. 

He wishes he hadn’t.

Awsten is crying. He has his knees pulled up to his chest and his chin resting on them and tears are rolling down his cheeks. His eyes are red and his hair is sticking up in clumps, like he’s been pulling on it. There are a few stray purple strands on his pillowcase. 

“What the _fuck_ do you want?” He growls. His voice is raspy, from the tears. He’s glaring at Otto but it’s anything but threatening when taking into account the bloodshot eyes and quivering lip. 

“To talk to you.”

“Not in the mood.” Awsten reaches for the curtain and begins pulling it shut, but Otto leans forward and climbs onto the edge of the bunk. Awsten glares at him, kicking against his hip. “I mean it, Otto. Get the fuck out.”

“I mean it too,” Otto replies. “C’mon. We’re going for a walk.”

“What part of ‘I’m not in the _fucking_ mood’ did you not get?” 

“The part where our band breaks up because you and Geoff can’t get your shit together. Walk. Let’s go.”

“I’m not a fuckin’ animal you can order around.”

“I’m not a fuckin’ babysitter dealing with all your bullshit, looks like we’re both gonna be unhappy.” He reaches for Awsten’s arm and slides down, dragging Awsten with him. Awsten stumbles when he hits the ground and almost loses his balance completely. He shoots him another glare.

“I don’t care if you’re pissed at me, Aws,” Otto says. He lets Awsten move in front of him as they make their way off the bus. Lucas raises an eyebrow at him as they pass, and he shrugs. It may not be the best plan, but it’s better than Awsten crying in his bunk all day.

“Alright. We’re outside. What the fuck do you want?”

He softens his voice and plops down on the asphalt, folding his legs underneath him and sitting back on his heels. “What did Geoff say to you?” 

“No, okay? No. Fuck you. I’m not doing this.”

“Jesus fuckin’ christ,” Otto mutters. Awsten has always been stubborn and they’ve always known it but it’s never been this big of a problem until now. It’s never been as bad, he’s never been as obstinate. They’re usually on his side, forming a united stubborn front against their label or management or something. They’ve never had to deal with an everyone else vs. Awsten situation.

It’s never like this.

“I’m sick of this, okay? I’m sick of everyone bein’ miserable. I know you’re dealing with a lot and I get it, it sucks, but no one can help you if you don’t _talk_ about it. It’s not gonna get better if you lock it up and I know Geoff said something to you and I know it hurt and I know it won’t be fun to talk about but you _have_ to say something before it destroys you, Awsten.”

“He told me he loved me, okay?” Awsten cries. His voice breaks and he throws his hands up in the air and more tears spill down his cheeks. “He told me he fuckin’ loved me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so everything's still a mess but otto knows now, at least. and he can set to work on fixing this trainwreck that is his band (which he's clearly thrilled about if this chapter was any indication). awsten actually leaves his bunk voluntarily (shocker, i know) next chapter, and finds a therapist in someone very unlikely (they're on the tour but that doesn't really narrow it down does it), otto informs geoff of exactly the moron he is, and we (start) to fix some things. the more comments i get, the quicker you get the chapter.
> 
> thanks for reading guys. i hope you had a good new years. here's to 2018 being better than the trainwreck that was 2017.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a while whoops
> 
> truth is, writing this story is lowkey really hard bc it's not an au like all my other stories this is stuff that could potentially be true and for me that's hard bc i love awsten so much and writing this, imagining him like this, hurts me a lot. 
> 
> but anyway yeah i might be a little rusty it's been a month oops
> 
> nothing too bad trigger-wise, awsten and geoff both do get a little panicky though

“You are the _biggest_ moron on the fucking _planet_.”

It feels like all the breath has been knocked out of his body. He tries to inhale but sucks in air too fast and ends up coughing. He brings a hand to his chest and winces. “What the fuck?”

Otto stares at him. “You seriously don’t remember anything, do you?”

“Fucking hell,” he snaps. “No, okay? _No_. Can you just tell me what I did? I’m sick of playing this fuckin’ guessing game. I don’t remember and I’m not _gonna_ remember so just tell me!”

Otto’s voice is scarily quiet when he speaks next, monotone. “Do you remember a few weeks ago? The one _thing_ I told you _not_ to say?”

He stops.

“Oh my god…”

“You told him. You loved him,” Otto grounds out through gritted teeth. “Wanna know why he’s been even more of a mess? You fuckin’ drunk-confessed your stupid fucking feelings and he doesn’t know what to do! He doesn’t know how to handle it!”

“Otto-” His heart is racing. His head is spinning. He still doesn’t remember he doesn’t know what he said or how he said it or what Awsten’s immediate reaction is it’s all a blur. He can vaguely recall having a conversation with Awsten right outside their bus. It gets fuzzy after that. He remembers being shoved into his bunk. His side still hurts from how hard he hit the edge of it. “I don’t, I can’t, fuck I…”

“You know how Awsten gets, you _know_ how bad his anxiety is…” Otto says, shaking his head. “He doesn’t know what to do, Geoff. This is _too much_ for him. I told you it would be. He can’t process it. He’s still tryna get through everything _she_ did, and now this? He’s freakin’ out.”

“I don’t…” Geoff trails off. His stomach is twisting in on itself. A balloon of nausea is forming in the middle, slowly increasing in size as he realizes _Awsten knows he knows he knows he fucking knows_. It’s getting bigger and bigger, about to pop. His mind is going a mile a minute. It feels like all the air in the room was sucked out. His throat is closing. He brings a hand to his neck and chokes out a raspy cough that tears up his esophagus. 

“Geoff? Shit, hey, you gotta breathe. C’mon, with me.” A pair of hands grab his shoulders. Otto kneels in front of him. He’s blurry. The edges of Geoff’s vision are fuzzy and slightly blackened. “Breathe. C’mon. In.” Otto exaggerates a deep breath, leaning up slightly to project his chest expanding. “And out.” He exhales and repeats it once, twice, until Geoff feels his own breathing start to slow down.

He feels foggy, like he’s floating in midair. He can see and hear what’s going on but it’s not registering. “I, um…sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Otto replies. “You okay?”

“Tired.”

“I know.” Otto leans forward and opens the fridge. He grabs a bottle of water and holds it out in front of Geoff. Geoff stares at it. His body is heavy. He feels like slumping into the couch and closing his eyes. It’s that groggy, disoriented state, when everything is fuzzy and the only thing on your mind is sleep. “Shit, here.” Otto unscrews the cap and hands him the bottle. “Drink. Hydrate. And you can probably get a nap in before we head out.”

“What are we…” He trails off again, shaking his head. He knows what he wants to say but his mouth isn’t cooperating. Every action feels excessive. Moving his lips didn’t seem like a task until now. “Doing…”

Otto slides back up onto the couch next to him and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “I don’t know.”

…

His head hurts.

Maybe it’s all the crying he’s done in the past few days or he’s finally filled his brain to its extent and it’s protesting against all the emotion he’s crammed inside, but either way, his skull feels like it’s about to explode and the bumpbumpbump of the bus isn’t helping.

The vehicle bounces as they drive over another pothole, and he groans, bringing a hand up to his temple. “Hey, are we stopping soon?” 

“Yeah,” Lucas replies. “There’s a rest stop about a mile away. We’re gonna hang for a bit, the other buses are stopping too.”

He nods and shuts his bunk curtain. He rolls onto his side and shoves his phone under his pillow, closing his eyes and bringing his knees into his chest. 

He’s so tired of this. Waking up every day to a pounding migraine and a pit in his stomach is getting old. Breakups are hard and depression is harder but he’s so sick of feeling like this. He’s sick of feeling so bad and not being able to do anything about it. There’s nothing he can change about his life to make this hurt less. He’s powerless to do anything in his circumstances. He has no choice but to feel it until he can’t anymore.

The tour is coming to a close which means Entertainment’s going to be out soon. The album is amazing. It’s a masterpiece, a perfect snapshot of him for the months after Double Dare, the good, the bad, and the ugly. It’s beautiful and it’s art and it’s the best thing he’s ever done but it has her name written all over it and the reality is slowly becoming apparent because it’s going to be out soon and then they have to tour it he has to sing words he wrote about being in love with her every night he has to sing about giving her everything he has to sing about her when she cheated on him she cheated she blew it she ruined everything.

Entertainment and Geoff and her it’s all so much it feels so huge so impossible his head hurts his throat is starting to close fuck.

“Alright, we’re here! Everybody out!”

He sits up and slides off the edge of his bunk and onto the floor in one motion. He needs to get out he needs to get away he can’t have another panic attack.

He follows Jawn and Lucas off the bus but turns off to the side while they go into the large building. He shoves his hands in his pockets walks, over to the side of the building. He’ll do some laps, breathe in the fresh air, and everything’ll be fine.

 _It’ll be fine_.

He needed to get out of the bus.

He’s not claustrophobic but his bunk is tears and panic attacks and Geoff and Entertainment and her it’s her he can’t say her name he can’t think her name he can’t think about her he can’t think.

“Awsten?”

He looks up. 

Patty is sitting against the back wall of the building, knees pulled up. What looks like his journal is open on his thighs. He has earbuds in and when Awsten walks closer, he can see that the page is half full.

“Hey,” he says. “Are you…how long have you guys been here?”

“Almost an hour,” Patty replies, pulling both earbuds out and reaching over to touch a button on his phone. “I, um…I just needed to be by myself for a sec. Write without the boys playing video games in the back or snoring like truckers, yknow?”

He knows too well. “Yeah.” He takes another step closer.

“Come, sit.” Patty motions to the space beside him. “I promise I won’t ask about you-know-what.”

“She’s not Voldemort,” he mutters, sliding down against the wall. “I just…every time I hear her name my heart starts racin’ and I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“I get that,” Patty replies. “A little too well honestly. Shutting yourself in your bunk’s not gonna help.”

“I don’t…I don’t wanna deal with anyone,” Awsten says. Patty is one of the last people he thought he’d be talking to about this. They don’t know each other as well as he knows Carter and Kourtney, and especially not as well as Otto, Jawn, Lucas, or Geoff. “I just wanna be by myself. There’s no other way.”

Patty shrugs. “Do what I do. Whenever we stop I always get off and find a quiet spot to sit and write. The fresh air helps clear my head. And this is probably just a me thing, but…words come easier when I have something nice to look at.” He motions to the sun that’s just beginning to set a few hundred miles in front of them. “It’s hard to write when there’s so much noise everywhere. I have enough in my head.”

“I wrote a song. Dunno if you saw it, but-”

“I did,” Patty says. He flips his journal shut and sets it on the ground next to him, then pulls his knees into his chest and wraps his arms around them. “Fuckin’ amazing, like everything else you write, but man…I felt that. Your label’s not gonna kill you over it though, right?”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Awsten laughs. “I needed that. And I wanted the fans to know. They deserve it.”

“It gets easier,” Patty tells him. “Eventually. It doesn’t hurt as bad.”

 _If only he knew_. “I just wanna feel like I’m living again. Every day feels like surviving. I’m sick of just surviving.”

“Feel it,” Patty advises. “Y’know that mental breakdown I had? When I was writing okay last year?” Awsten nods. “It was so bad because I didn’t let myself feel anything in the years before. And it all built up because I was running on empty for so long and eventually I just couldn’t take it anymore. Don’t let that happen to you.”

“I’m sick of feeling it.”

“S’better than repressing it until you can’t anymore.”

“I’m so tired,” Awsten confesses. He tilts his head back and lets it hit the brick wall.

“Take it slow. One step at a time. Little things that’ll help. Leaving your bunk is a start.” Patty shoots him a smile. “Trust me, it’ll help. Hell, if you want, text me and we can just walk around somewhere. You don’t have to talk to me, but in my experience it helps havin’ someone there. So you don’t slip back into your thoughts. Just…you can’t expect to make leaps and bounds because recovery doesn’t work like that. It’s little victories. And they add up. So give yourself a break. You’re doing good.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

Patty reaches over to wrap an arm around his shoulders. “Trust me. You are. You don’t get to stay in bed all day. You have to play shows and sing about her and try to hold it together and you’re doin’ a damn good job. Give yourself credit. You’ll feel better when you let yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not letting yourself feel anything good. You’re like, drowning in all the negative shit because you’re convinced you needa be one hundred percent to be better. Twenty-five is good too. Fifty’s great. You don’t have to be all the way okay to feel good about it.”

“My head hurts and I wanna go back to bed. And I know that’s not gonna help, but everything else feels…I dunno. I just can’t.”

“The first step is starting,” Patty says. “Getting off the bus and comin’ out here, _talking_ to me, telling me all this…do you even know how much you just accomplished, Awsten?”

“It doesn’t feel like anything.”

“It’s everything.” The arm tightens around his shoulders. “So we’re gonna sit here and watch the sky and you’re gonna clear your head and if you wanna talk anything out I’m gonna listen.” He pauses for a second, and then adds, “but if you don’t wanna talk that’s cool too! Don’t feel like you have to!”

“Hey, Patty?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? patty's a good advice-giver i want him to advise me about all my problems lmao whoops tho i hope you guys liked the addition of him. i just don't really know sleep on it/chapel as well (like the band members not the music) and i know a lot about patty so he's a little easier to write.
> 
> next chapter, awsten tries to take patty's advice and geoff summons the courage to confront awsten about the incident and it's...interesting, to say the least. the more comments i get, the quicker you get the chapter


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so um. this one's a lot. trigger warnings for anxiety and panic attacks.

He buys a journal.

It’s a shitty tiny one from a local bookstore in the next town they stop at. The cover is smooth, not leather like Patty’s is, but still nice to run his fingers across. There’s a band attached to the back he can stretch over the book to keep it closed. The pages are lined and the spine doesn’t break when he opens it all the way and it may not be the prettiest of journals but it’ll get the job done.

He’s always had noise in his head – even moreso after the breakup – but the main source of noise is Twitter and Instagram and people texting him asking if he’s okay _no I’m not fucking okay my girlfriend cheated on me three times and has a new boyfriend and doesn’t seem to give a shit about everything we had and maybe I wanted to marry her and was planning our future together but that doesn’t matter now none of it matters she cheated she’s gone it’s over. Oh, and my bandmate, my best friend for almost eight years, drunkenly told me he loved me. But it’s fine everything’s fine I’m fine_. 

And Patty’s point about sitting and listening to music and writing may not have been the worst idea. He’s used to writing on his phone - his notes app is a journey and a half to scroll through – and sometimes he turns on Do Not Disturb and airplane mode to try and get rid of the notifications but maybe the solution is to get rid of the temptation entirely. 

So he plops down on the grass against a tree the next time they stop. Patty joins him, sits on the other side of the tree and writes too, the silence so deafening he wouldn’t know Patty was even there if not for the soft breathing he hears when one song ends, waiting for the next to begin. 

His pen scratches across the paper messily. Once he starts he can’t stop. The lyrics need to be polished reread and edited but the skeleton, the backbone, the basic structure, is all there. It’s jagged edges and unhappy endings the boy always gets fucked over in the end the sadness is always too much he’s always too much he thinks he’s found someone who’ll listen to him and comfort him on bad days and let him cry and then she tells him he’s too much and too dark and his depression is too much and he’s blindsided by all of it because _he thought she was okay with it she said she was okay with it how long was he bothering her how long did he not know_.

How long has he been blind how long has Geoff loved him how long has she not how long has his life been happening in front of him while he’s been sitting in the passenger’s seat on autopilot how long has he been letting people make decisions for him how long has he ignored his feelings why are they all spilling out now he didn’t mean for this to happen hedidn’twantthishedidn’twantithedidn’tfuckingwantit.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until one of the tears drips onto the page, splashing and mixing with the freshly drying ink. He slams his head back against the tree trunk and closes his eyes. The silent tears slip down his cheeks and cling to his neck and he bites his lip to keep the sob in because he can’t explain this to Patty right now.

He’s a mess and he knows it.

…

“I can’t do this.”

“Yes you can.”

“He won’t understand.”

“Yes he will.”

“Oh my god I’m gonna puke I can’t do this…”

“Geoff.” Otto grips his shoulders and forces him to look at him. Geoff wobbles on his feet. If Otto weren’t holding him he probably would’ve fallen. “It’s going to be _fine_. You needa breathe, alright? You’re gonna have another panic attack.”

“What if he hates me forever?” The lump in his throat throbs. He feels tears burning at the corners of his eyes.

Awsten is his best friend. Has been for almost eight years. There was something special about him, something he saw when they first met and he’s never seen in anyone else. Awsten’s presence and existence in his life have changed everything. His influence is unmatched. 

Awsten has always been the person he could go to for anything and he might’ve ruined that in a single stupid drunken night. He was _stupid_. He overshares when he drinks. He hasn’t in a while because Awsten’s usually by his side, steering him away from conversations when he starts to go into his battle with anxiety or years of insecurities. Awsten polices the interactions he has, takes his role as designated sober person to the utmost degree, goes above and beyond and does everything to make sure he gets to have his good time without ruining things.

Funny how it’s Awsten he’s potentially ruined things with.

“…loves you,” Otto is saying. “As a friend,” he rushes to add. “I don’t know if he’s even _able_ to feel anything romantic for you right now. And if you dare blame him or feel bad about that I’m gonna kick your ass so hard you-”

Geoff swallows. “I know. I just. I don’t want this to change anything but what if it already has?”

Otto sighs. “That’s up ta you guys. If you don’t let it change shit it won’t.”

“I’m not,” Geoff says. “But Awsten…”

“Is dealing with the worst breakup he’s ever been through,” Otto says. “You can’t tell him what to feel and you can’t be pissed if it’s not what you want him to feel. He’s a mess and he’s allowed to be. This is _too much_ for him. His anxiety is through the roof, god Geoff, you’ve gotta be a fuckin’ idiot not ta see it.”

“I just. I needa stop talkin’ about this,” Geoff chokes out. “I just gotta get it over with, right? Just one conversation. No big deal. Not like this could change the future of the band or cost me my best friend or anything nope not a big deal at all fuck I-,”

“Breathe,” Otto repeats. “You got this.”

He pats him on the back and disappears into the lounge. Geoff turns around, and stares at the only closed curtain in the bunk area.

His feet carry him over to it but he doesn’t register the movement. It’s like he teleported. One second he’s at the front of the bus and the next he’s standing inches away from the curtain of Awsten’s bunk with his heart racing and his hands shaking and nausea rolling in his stomach.

_You can do this._

_One conversation._

_You can do this_.

“Aws?” 

He hears shuffling. He waits a couple moments, and then the curtain slides open. 

Awsten is sitting there, knees bent, one headphone in. He has a journal open on his thighs. Geoff can’t see what’s written from where he’s standing but half the page is filled. 

“Can we talk?” He says to Awsten’s look of confusion. “I…I have some things I needa explain.”

Awsten says nothing. He closes the journal and takes out the earbud, then pulls his knees all the way into his chest to make room. Geoff forces a smile and hops up to sit on the vacated area, ducking his head to keep from hitting the ceiling. 

Awsten’s looking at him expectantly. His heart is going even faster now. His hands are shaking so badly. His vision is starting to blur. “I, um…about that night…I- I didn’t mean it.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Geoff.”

Awsten’s voice is firm. Hard. He feels like he’s gonna puke. “W-What?”

“You can’t lie to me,” Awsten continues. “And besides, I’ve dealt with your drunk ass enough times ta know that you’re saying all the things on your mind you know you can’t say when you’re sober.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes. “I didn’t- you weren’t supposed ta find out. Otto told me- I- I told _myself_ I’d never let you find out you don’t need this right now you have enough it was a stupid mistake I didn’t mean to say it I promise.”

“Whoa dude, calm down,” Awsten says. He drops his head to his lap. The world is spinning he’s shaking everything is moving he feels dizzy he feels sick he’s gonna puke ohgodohgodohgod.

“Is it true?”

Geoff swallows. He looks up at Awsten and now he’s crying, tears breaking out of their barrier behind his eyelids and falling onto his lashes. “I, um…”

“Geoff.” Awsten doesn’t sound angry or exasperated. His tone is calm and his voice is even. “Is what you said true?”

“Y-Yeah,” he forces out. He can’t breathe. “I-I’m sorry. I never- never meant for you ta find out.”

“How long?”

He thought he was prepared for this but he wasn’t. He feels like the walls are closing in is the bus getting smaller the bus has to be getting smaller everything feels smaller it’s all closing in he’s trapped he’s suffocating he can’t breathe. “I’m sorry I- fuck I can’t breathe fuck.”

“Hey. Geoff. Hey. Can you look at me?” The voice is fuzzy. He’s drifting in and out and it’s not registering. He knows it’s Awsten’s but it’s hard to focus on it. He tries to turn his head in the direction of Awsten’s voice but everything is too blurry and spotty to see exactly where he is. 

“I-I’m sorry.” He doesn’t hear himself say the words he doesn’t hear anything it’s all a blur it feels messy and heavy and confusing he’s drifting in and out of consciousness he sees black and then he doesn’t he doesn’t know what to do he wants to go to sleep he wants to sleep he doesn’t want to be here anymore. 

And then he isn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? geoff might seem a little ooc but when i was writing this i was thinking like. there's the guilt he feels about aws hurting over the breakup, the feelings he has for him, the fact that awsten now _knows_ about said feelings, and the fact that he definitely won't return them (which is not something geoff holds against him especially given the circumstances but. emotions don't work logically his heart's not gonna get 'awsten is getting over a breakup and is physically incapable of reciprocating your feelings' it's all just he doesn't like you back). the poor guy's got a lot on his plate ofc he's not going to deal with it well i.e the panic attacks
> 
> so next chapter is the aftermath and awsten and geoff kinda have a better conversation but um. this shit's hard to talk about especially considering the situation we've got at hand so an honest, in depth heart to heart is not in the cards just yet. i think you guys'll like where i take it regardless tbh. the more comments i get, the quicker it's yours.
> 
> thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no see lmao wow
> 
> this story is hard for me a lot of times. but today is my ex's and my anniversary so this was surprisingly easy to write. 
> 
> trigger warnings - anxiety and panic attacks

“What the _hell_ just happened?”

He steps in front of the TV, blocks both the screen and the Switch base sensing Otto’s remote, and crosses his arms over his chest. Otto curses loudly and glares at him, waving the remote around with a protest, “Whaddya do that for? I was in first place!”

“Geoff just had a panic attack,” he says. His own heart is racing. He looks back over to his bunk where he left Geoff to sleep, laces his fingers together and starts to pull them apart in an attempt to keep his hands from shaking. _Is Geoff okay what if he wakes up what if he’s alone what if I’m not there this was such a bad idea fuckfuckfuck_ \- “He told me he was telling the truth and had a fucking _panic attack_ over it. And now I- I don’t- what’s going _on_ , Otto?” His throat is tight. It’s like someone’s wrapping rope around his body, pulling it tighter and tighter and tighter it hurts everything hurts _fuck stop stop it please I need it to stop-_

“Hey. Aws? Hey, it’s okay.” He looks up. His vision is blurry. It takes a couple seconds to focus in on Otto, register his hands on his shoulders and make eye contact. “Take a deep breath. You’re okay.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.” He gasps out the words through a dry sob. The ache is splattering against the walls of his chest, coating everything in paint layers of pain. “Please.”

“You gotta sit down, dude.” Otto tightens his grip on his bicep and tugs him toward the couches. “C’mon.”

He exhales heavily as he collapses into one of the chairs, squeezes his eyes shut and presses the heels of his hands into his face, _breathes. Shut up. Stop panicking. You’re fine. Geoff’s fine. Everything’s fine_. “Tell me.”

Otto sighs. He feels a hand on his back. Otto keeps it there for a couple seconds, presses against his skin in soft circles, before he brings his hand back. “It’s been a few years.”

“Since _what_?” It feels like every heart beat sends a new wave of blurriness, more anxiety and hurt and nausea pumped out through his veins, to the rest of his body, all in the form of blood. 

Otto shakes his head, drops it down to stare at his lap. “God, Aws. I dunno how you didn’t see it sooner. He’s never been good at hiding it.”

“Hiding _what_?” Otto needs to fucking tell him already he doesn’t know what’s going on and everything is moving so fast he wants to get out he wants to get away he wants this to stop pleasepleaseplease.

“He’s been in love with you since the day he met you, Awsten,” Otto says quietly. “Well, like- not _in love_ in love. I don’t think he’s a love at first sight kinda guy. But there was something there…we’d go get burgers every day, after band practice, and he’d just go on and on about how beautiful you were and how much he wished he wasn’t so anxious so he could confess. But anxiety sucks so he never did and then you started dating-”

“He liked me?” He chokes out. “When I- when I started datin’- oh my god…”

“He tried not to,” Otto adds. “Believe me, he did. He even started dating Chloe to try and get over you. And he really liked her. They had fun together. But after every date he’d call me and start talking about how he wished it was you running through sunflowers with him, or going to fall festivals, or sharing froyo even when it was freezing out. He had a good time with her, but she just- she wasn’t you.”

“Oh my- oh my _god_ …” Holy shit what the fuck what is happening what just happened what’s going on is this real it doesn’t feel real what the fuck just happened what-

He closes his eyes and tries to inhale, but the breath doesn’t come. There’s nothing left. It’s like Otto’s words sucked up all the air for themselves, are holding extra even when they don’t need it so he won’t have any _you don’t deserve to breathe right now how did you not see this how were you blind for so long what the fuck is wrong with you what the fuck is this_ -

“Hey. Awsten.” The hand is back on his back, and the circles are bigger. Harder. He swallows and opens his mouth to gulp in another breath. “Breathe. Easy. You’re doing great. Just keep breathing, okay? Everything’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

It’s not nothing is how long was he blind how long did he not know _nightmarenightmarenightmare_ Ciara cheatercheatercheater Geoff love fuckfuckfuck how did he not know what the fuck just happened what the fuck is going on how did this happen how did he get here how is this his life what is this he didn’t want this nonononono fuckfuckfuck pleasepleaseplease-

 _What the fuck just happened_ -

…

It’s heavy.

He blinks rapidly for a second and then squeezes his eyes shut. Everything feels so heavy, like someone tied weights to his ankles and wrists and hung them from his ears. He’s lying down but it feels like he’s standing, about to collapse from the increase in weights being draped from his frame. 

The space is dark. It smells different. He turns his head back into the pillow and inhales deeply, tries to- _fuck_. 

He knows that smell. He’d know that smell anywhere.

It’s that specific cologne, the cologne he’s gotten to know much too well over the past seven years. It’s faint, but the pillow smells like someone just sprayed the substance into it. There are traces of what he thinks is sweat and a hint of vanilla, but it’s mostly the cozy, sink back into a warm armchair after a long day, step inside your house after a lengthy vacation, take one whiff and the prickly panic starts to settle slightly, cologne.

 _Awsten’s_ cologne. 

Because he’s in Awsten’s bunk.

Everything is coming back at once it’s all happening so fast he remembers it so well- panicking and Otto saying it would be fine and trying to breath his chest hurt his throat closed Awsten staring at him _he knows he knows he knows fuckfuckfuck_ -

“Geoff? You awake?”

Fuck his entire existence oh god- _you fucked up you fucked up so bad what are you going to say how are you going to explain this you have to tell him something what the fuck are you supposed to say this is why Otto said not to say anything this is why you’re a stupid fucking piece of shit couldn’t you have just kept it hidden you did it for seven years how fucking hard was it you weak little bitch you did this to yourself fuck you you did this to your fucking self_ -

“Deep breaths.” He blinks up at Awsten as he feels the arm come around his back and wrap around his shoulders. Awsten helps him sit up. He turns back to look at him, bites his lip and presses down until he tastes the copper. “You’re okay.”

Awsten’s eyes are red. The skin around them, his cheeks…his face is pink. Geoff knows what he looks like when he cries. He’s been crying.

 _You fucked up you fucked up you fucked up_ -

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I shouldn’t’ve- I’m so _sorry_ , Awsten. I just- you didn’t- I shouldn’t-”

“Geoff.” Awsten’s arm tightens around his back. “Stop. It’s okay. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“I never should’ve said anything,” he mutters, turning to look down at his lap. “We can pretend I never did. It’s okay.”

“I don’t wanna do that,” Awsten says. “I- I’m glad you told me. I don’t know how you kept it a secret for so long.”

“You talked to Otto,” he whispers. He presses down harder on his lip. His life really has gone to hell in just a few hours. Awsten knows and soon everyone else will and they’ll be looking at him and watching him and making sure he doesn’t make a move soon the fans will find out the secret he’s kept locked so tightly for seven fucking _years_ is now out and open and everyone knows how did this happen what the fuck did he just do-

“Yeah,” Awsten replies. “I did. And he told me some stuff. Geoff, I…” He trails off, gives a choked gasp of his own. Geoff stills against him, turns his head to look at Awsten. He has his head down and he’s staring at their legs, taking very pronounced deep breaths. “I can’t. Not right now, anyway. I’m sorry.” He punctuates the words with a tiny whimper. “She- and you- I can’t do this right now, I’m sorry.”

“No!” The cry comes out before he can stop it. He wrenches himself out from under Awsten’s arms and wraps him in a hug of his own. Awsten turns into his body and presses his face into the crook of his neck. Geoff exhales heavily, sighs out a breath, until he feels the dampness on his skin and hears the tiny sobs that follow. “It’s okay, I know you don’t feel it and that’s okay, I don’t mind, I just- I was so _drunk_ , I know you’re dealing with a lot- I _never_ thought you’d be able to do it right now, or even ever. It’s okay, I promise.” He pauses. “Oh, Aws…please don’t cry…”

“I just- I’m so tired, Geoff,” Awsten sobs. “Everything hurts. It hurts _so much_ and I’m so _tired_. I want it to stop. I can’t do this anymore.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” he repeats. He uses one hand to rub Awsten’s back and presses his lips against the crown of his head. “It’s gonna get better. _You’re_ gonna get better. I promise you won’t feel like this forever.”

Awsten lifts his head. His cheeks are wet and his eyes are red. His lip is quivering. “Are- are we okay? Please, I just- I hate fighting with you I can’t do it anymore I _need_ us to be okay-”

Geoff swallows. He didn’t think Awsten would be able to do this. He didn’t think he’d be able to even _look_ at him the same way after all of this. He expected glares and awkwardness and an angry talk with Jawn and a disappointing phone call from Travis, he expected to spend the rest of tour alone because it’s partly his fault Awsten is such a mess.

He didn’t expect _this_ …

He takes a breath and presses a kiss to Awsten’s forehead. “Yeah. We're okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? next chapter is kinda chill. awsten's still trying to process and geoff finally remembers how to breathe, and possibly...the three of them have an adult conversation for once. what a concept lmao 
> 
> the more comments i get, the quicker it's yours.
> 
> thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for anxiety, depression, and mentions of suicidal thoughts

It comes in waves.

Some days they’re small, with tiny baby crests that lap and sting at his feet. Some days it feels like just that, like the pain is a mere few sharp needles stinging at the base of his heart. It doesn’t feel like his heart is bleeding. It doesn’t feel like the paintball, the physical manifestation of pain, has been splattered against the front of his skull, sinking deeper and deeper, creating ridges in his bones.

Some days it dies down. The wave crashes without any aftershocks and he goes out on stage with a smile that doesn’t feel like a sticker. He plays the chords he always does, sings the same notes, changes the same lyrics – _he’s_ the symphony, all she is is a sour note – chokes up during the same songs – the performances of 21 Questions and Powerless will never reach even close to his maximum vocal capability on this tour; he’s accepted the reality – if he makes it through both without shedding a tear, it’s the biggest victory.

Some days he feels like a different person, like he’s floating on a separate plane of existence outside the Earth, watching his body function and go through his day while his mind is somewhere else. He watches himself, bites his lip as he tunnels under his blankets and lets the sobs come, doesn’t make a move to stop them blossoming up his throat and encapsulating him in a bubble that presses the tears into his skin, harder and harder until he’s a liquid ghost collapsing into a puddle.

_I’m a symphony._

_I’m a symphony._

_I am a fucking_ symphony.

He keeps telling himself, tries to say the words out loud, mouth them, when he’s in a public place but his private thoughts are tripping over themselves in their attack on his brain. He tries to keep going, keep repeating, keep the pattern of _I’m a symphony I’m a symphony I’m a symphony_ in the air like bouncing a ball; everything is fine as long as it stays up. He’s scrambling, jumping from foot to foot and stumbling over the words, sometimes not even getting them out, _everything is fine_ I’m a symphony _everything is fine_ I’m a symphony _everything is fine_ I’m a symphony everything is _fine_ -

Geoff likes him.

 _Geoff_ likes _him_.

He can say it over and over, mouth it and voice it and read it and think it, but no mater what, he’s still trying to wrap his head around it. The words are there like an intruder amongst the familiarity of his body, like a guest in his house. They’re trying to make themselves comfortable but there’s this divide, this disconnect, this separation that makes them feel further than ever.

Jawn is his best friend. 

Jawn is the person who’s known him since they were twelve years old, known him through every single thing he’s been through since, good or bad, a victory or a failure, the times he wants to bottle up and shove into his closet of good memories and the ones he’d bleach his brain if it meant he could forget.

Jawn has been there through everything. 

Jawn has seen everything. 

When he was first diagnosed, through every mental breakdown, the first (and only) person to see a lot of the lyrics that otherwise would never see the light of day…Jawn is the common thread in all of it. He’s been there through everything. He _is_ everything. 

Jawn is the person he can lay across when he hasn’t showered in over a week and _tell_ that he doesn’t want to leave the house because his anxiety is at an all time high for a reason unknown that day. Jawn is the person he can change plans on, who will come with him to the dumbest of places, if only because he’s too scared to go anywhere alone and needs someone there to talk to people for him. Jawn takes over in any given situation as his spokesperson, knows by now what he needs and how certain things will affect him, like they’re two parts of the same brain. Jawn didn’t get the bugs under his skin and the talons stretching across his heart. Jawn gets the thoughts and he gets the feelings that make him wish he were no longer breathing.

Geoff is different. 

Jawn is in tune with him. They operate on the same wavelength. Jawn knows what he’s going to say before he does. He hasn’t known Geoff long enough for him to get on that level. 

Geoff is different.

His eyes don’t feel boring. He’s not waiting or wondering or _expecting_ something to go wrong. Jawn knows a lot. Too much, in some cases. He’s always the one with the second glances and extra hands on his shoulders, _are you sure you’re okay? do you need me to come with you? can I help in any way?_ It’s sweet and some days it’s all that can get him off the couch, but others make it feel like the walls are closing in, like _do you need help do you need help I want to help you let me help helphelphelp_ are written across the plaster and they’re coming closer and he can’t get out _helphelphelp_ -

It’s all too much.

 _Jawn_ is sometimes, all too much.

Geoff is shoulder squeezes and back rubs, _do you want me to sleep in your bunk tonight? you’re okay aws, just breathe. I’ll talk to them for you, it’s okay_. He’s a breath of fresh air, a cool drink on a summer day that he feels in his chest from the first sip. He’s a warm body to relax into and a place to go when everything else is tight. 

Geoff is different.

Jawn is his best friend.

Geoff is different.

…

“Are you guys…okay?”

He says the last word a lot softer than the first few, watches as Awsten slides onto the couch next to Geoff, up and underneath his lifted arm. Geoff curls it around him and brings him into his body, and Awsten rests his head on his shoulder and closes his eyes. 

“Yeah.” Geoff’s gaze doesn’t move from Awsten. 

Otto swallows. He feels the saliva travel stickily down his throat and settle at the bottom of his stomach. It feels like a foreign liquid. Something is different and it’s making even the most natural processes feel off. 

Geoff likes Awsten but Awsten likes Ciara.

Geoff likes Awsten but Awsten doesn’t like him back but Awsten is so emotionally vulnerable and fragile right now _what if he tries to do it for Geoff what if he says he’s ready when he’s not what if he agrees to something that ends up imploding because he just wants to feel better it’ll destroy them it’ll destroy the band it’ll destroy everything fuckfuckfuck_ -

“Really,” he mumbles. “Don’ just say it ‘cause you know I wanna hear it. This is- this could be _bad_ , guys. Really bad.”

“He doesn’t have feelings for me,” Geoff says. Otto finally gets his eyes. He holds Geoff’s gaze for a moment. “I like him but he doesn’t like me. It’s okay. I’m okay with that.”

Awsten is quiet. His breaths are heavy but his eyes are open. When he speaks, it’s so soft that Otto has to crane his neck to hear the words, “I don’t like her. Not anymore, I don’t think.”

It looks like this is the first time he’s said the words out loud. His face screws up tightly. He squeezes his eyes shut and turns his face completely into Geoff’s shoulder. Geoff shoots him a look and brings his other arm around, across Awsten’s body. 

Otto sighs. “Aws, that’s not- you can’t rush yourself with this. Getting over her…that’s not gonna be easy. It’ll take a while and it’s okay. Don’t feel like you havta be over everything now for me or Geoff or Jawn or whoever the fuck. This is about you.”

“I don’t wanna miss her anymore,” Awsten confesses. He lifts his head up and rubs at his eyes with his fists. His face is already swollen. His cheeks are red and his eyes are shiny. “It’s- I just- it’s too hard. Maybe- maybe if I say it enough I’ll feel it.”

“Awsten…”

His heart feels like it’s bleeding. Every word is a new knife. Awsten has perfect aim and his defenses are waning. 

He’s been through so much. The lyrics the fans thrive on only detail a small portion of what goes on in Awsten’s head. He writes so much, pulls from the emptiest parts of his head and squeezes himself dry until all that’s left is a shell. He funnels the emotions into songs and feels them all over again, creates a waterfall of pain and then steps into it and forcibly lets it rain down on him. He doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. This is his experience and his alone. 

Ciara was the platform supporting this mountain of feeling, a platform that new cracks kept appearing in, day after day, week after week. 

None of them expected the day it folded completely in on itself.

“Don’t.” Awsten’s voice is thick. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore. About _her_. Just- I know you’re worried but can we just- drop it?” His lip is starting to quiver. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“You don’t have to.” Geoff rubs his back, tilts his head down to kiss Awsten’s hair. “Okay? Whatever you gotta do to deal with this is okay. You’re okay. Let’s just take some deep breaths together, hm? Deep breaths. You’re okay.”

His vision is blurry. He’s looking right through Geoff and Awsten, at a blank spot on the wall. His chest feels like it’s starting to close up. The tears are pressing through their barriers and shooting straight up to his eyes. It hurts. All of it does.

Everything about this does.

This tour has been an avalanche of agony and he’s not ready for the next wave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? we're kiiiiinda on the road to fixing things. awsten and geoff are good at least. timeline-wise, we're around mid to late november, so next chapter is the lucky people mv shoot which involves a lot of reflection on awsten's part, a conversation with jawn, and a conversation with geoff. it's gonna be heavy. be prepared.
> 
> the more comments i get, the quicker it's yours.
> 
> thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for anxiety and panic attacks

He swallows.

Clenches his hand around the device in his hand and bites down on his lip. He presses harder, harder, until the skin breaks and he’s tasting copper and everything is starting to go slightly blurry and fuzzy around the edges. It’s a welcome pain, a pain that he runs for, throws open the doors and flings himself toward, buries in the carpets and drags the curtains around himself, tries to capture and cling and _surround_ , with all of it.

His chest is tight. The walls around it are hammering themselves shut, sliding together and barricading everything in. It’s a white-hot ball of fire in his chest that wants to explode and needs to explode but has no room to explode _it wants to explode it needs to explode there’s no room no room nofuckingroom_ -

He knew this was coming.

He knew it would happen. He knew he couldn’t put his entire life on hold because of her. He knew he’d have to go ahead with everything they’d planned before everything happened, participate in a reality that’s now only the ghost of a fantasy. 

The plans have been drawn up for weeks.

He always says his entire life is in his phone. People think he’s exaggerating. Some of them call him out for relying on a piece of technology to hold the scraps that couldn’t fit in his brain and the culmination of everything it’s churned out in the past few years. 

There’s just too much. Holding himself together at the seams is impossible because his skin isn’t a viable barrier. The sheer amount of everything is getting scarier and scarier, like he’s a pot that’s overflowing, liquid oozing from the sides and running down the vessel, like his body is just that, flesh and bone, a bucket that’s being filled past the brim and exploding. Everything’s running out. 

He’s nauseous by it. The feeling runs in his veins, the feeling you get after sprinting for a short period of time and stopping abruptly, hands on your knees, feel the world pause for a moment and remember just how fucking _sick_ you are. 

He’s nauseous. 

Reading the plans, he’s nauseous.

Imagining the concepts, he’s nauseous. 

Remembering what it was all supposed to symbolize, he is _so fucking nauseous_.

It’s the constant feeling of being about to throw up, like he can’t move or speak or _breathe_ , just in case his stomach decides this is the right time and proceeds to eject its contents back up his throat. He’s sick. He’s so fucking sick _thinking about her makes him sick thinking about what they almost had makes him sick thinking about what he wanted to do for her makes him so fucking sick_ -

They need to film the video. 

They’ve been pushing it for weeks now. Ever since everything happened. He remembers that night, curling himself into his bunk and choking on the liquid that wouldn’t stop coming, _please don’t make me I can’t do this I don’t even know what we’re gonna do for it now please just_ -

Life has to go on and this video has to be made and his job needs to shift back into first priority because clearly prioritizing people in his life was the wrong decision. Prioritizing the positives and letting himself be happy and take precedence over the band was the wrong decision. Prioritizing his pain is the only thing that’s ever worked in his favor.

Prioritizing his pain.

Prioritizing his pain. 

_Prioritizing his pain_ -

…

‘The cutest fucking Jason Mraz song ever’

That’s what he titled the note. That’s the floodgate that tears open to reveal the sweetest, softest, most heartfelt music video idea he’s ever had.

He remembers writing it. He remembers hanging up the Face Time call and finally feeling how badly his cheeks hurt from smiling the entire time. He remembers how the words just spilled out, how many typos he made and had to fix, thinking he was done so many times and then being hit with a new flood of ideas. Images. Themes.

This was his love letter to her.

This was _supposed_ to be his love letter to her.

He remembers smirking at his phone screen, vowing not to say anything to her about the video until it’d been shot and put out. He remembers wanting to watch it with her, wanting to be there by her side so he could witness the smile on her face and the tears in her eyes as he opened his heart through the computer screen. He remembers what he wanted to do afterward.

He remembers all of it.

Let’s keep each other safe from the world.

 _She cheated on you_.

The one I call my missus.

 _She cheated on you_.

I’m leaving you love notes in the kitchen that say it all-

 _She_ cheated _on you_ -

His chest is tight. The ache is compressing. It all feels too full, too heavy, too _much_ -

There’s pressure behind his eyes. It feels like a balloon lodged between brain and skull, forcing against bone, about to pop and tear and spill everything. It’s a pocket of tears that’s about to pop. Everything hurts. He doesn’t know how to breathe _hecan’tbreathe_ he doesn’t know how to breathe _hecan’tbreathe_ he doesn’t know how to breathe _hecan’tbreathe_ ithurtsithurtsithurts-

He brings his arm back and hurls his phone forward, hears it smack against the wall of his bunk – the screen is probably cracked and he definitely fucked it up for good – but pays no mind, curls further into himself and wraps his arms around his head. _Can’t move can’t speak can’t breathe hurtshurtshurts_ \- 

He can’t stop crying.

Everything is going wrong it’s all wrong _wrongwrongwrong_ -

“J-Jawn…” He gasps out the words in a voice that sounds as torn up as it feels. 

_Can’t move can’t speak can’t breathe can’t move can’t speak can’t breathe can’t move can’t speak can’tfuckingbreathe_ -

“Hey, whoa, breathe. It’s gonna be okay.”

“I c-can’t,” he forces out. His vision is blurring. There are three Jawns floating in front of him. It’s all blurry and fuzzy and black and messy he can’t see _why can’t he see why is this happening why won’t it stop_ -

“C’mon, with me, okay?” Jawn grips his shoulder. It feels like fire. He pulls his legs into his chest and tries to curl up, curl in, _no get off me stopstopstop it hurts it hurts it hurts_ \- “You can do it, Aws. I promise you can. Deep breath. In, and out.”

It takes a couple minutes. 

The first breath comes too fast and ends too ragged, forces coughs out of him that tear up his throat. He takes another, and another, follows the rise and fall of Jawn’s chest with his gaze and lets the burning tears finally slip down his cheeks. 

“There you go.” Jawn reaches forward and brushes his fingers through his hair. “Feel better?”

“I can’t do this.”

“What?” Jawn crouches slightly, reaches for his hand and squeezes tightly. “You gotta tell me what’s goin’ on, Aws. I can’t help if I don’t know.”

“The video,” he says. The words are faint. His head is somewhere else. He’s somewhere else. It feels too heavy, full of cotton, like he’s floating on some magic carpet and drifting into the clouds. “Lucky People. Joel texted me. He wants to know what I’ve got so we can try ta book something ta shoot it after tour.”

Jawn’s face changes. His eyes soften. He straightens and Awsten feels him reach a hand around to his back. “Is it still what you showed me-”

“Yeah.” His breath hitches in his throat. _Remember that day? Remember how excited you were? Remember showing up to his house at 7 in the fucking morning because you were just so damn excited to show him plans for a sappy ass disgusting music video about a girl that never loved you to begin with?_

“I’ll talk to him,” Jawn says finally. “I’ll explain. It’s Joel, he’ll understand. He’s been through his own shit. He’ll get it.”

“No,” he mumbles. The word is thick. His tongue feels too big for his mouth. It’s like he’s choking on it. “I know what I wanna do.”

Prioritizing his pain.

“What do you mean?”

Prioritizing his pain.

 _Prioritizing his pain_.

“The video,” he mumbles. “I think- I have a new idea. I just- I need you to shoot it.”

“Aws, I’m flattered, but I don’t think I’m-” Jawn starts to say. He swallows, shakes his head and squeezes Jawn’s hand. His heart is racing. The room is once again starting to go fuzzy at its edges. It feels like a wave of black that’s surging and crashing and picking up once again.

“Please,” he gasps. He puts both hands on Jawn’s chest and grasps for the collar of his shirt. “Please, I need you. I need you to do this for me I don’t want anyone else seeing me like that I can’t let anyone else see me like that you havta do this for me please-”

“Aws, hey, breathe.” Jawn’s hands grip his shoulders. He looks dizzily into his eyes. The world is spinning. His head feels like it could detach from his body and roll onto the floor. His chest is tight and everything hurts and he wants to go to sleep he doesn’t want to talk about this anymore he wants to go to sleep he wants to go to sleep _he wants to go to sleep_ \- “It’ll be okay. If you- if you really want me to, I’ll shoot it, okay? We can do it soon.”

“Tonight,” he gasps. “Please. I need ta get this over with.”

This needs to happen _he wants to sleep_ this needs to happen _he wants to sleep_ this needs to happen _he wants to sleep_ this needs to happen-

“Awsten-”

“Tonight. It n-needs to happen tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? i know i didn't put in the geoff convo and the actual shoot didn't happen but...this was necessary beforehand. awsten needed to have his thoughts (and that panic attack) to get them. so next chapter is the _actual_ shoot, which, when geoff hears about what the new idea is...he's got an opinion awsten might not like very much. it's gonna be a lot. (i say that every time but this time really a lot) 
> 
> the more feedback i get, the quicker it's yours
> 
> thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed


	12. Chapter 12

“Christmas lights,” Geoff says. “It’s two in the fuckin’ morning, and you wanna walk around Boston wrapping _Christmas lights_ around yourself?”

“There’s meaning behind it,” he mumbles. He doesn’t look up to meet Geoff’s eyes, digs his nails into his palms and tries to keep his voice from breaking again. He can’t cry anymore. It’s happened enough. _Too much_. The switch is broken and the tears keep coming, like he’s taken their band name and shoved it inside his chest, stomped all over it so many times that the waterworks feel permanent. 

“What the hell could Christmas lights mean?” Geoff presses. “You, in the dark, blinking lights…I don’t get it.”

“I didn’t think you would,” he mutters under his breath. It feels like stingers are burning into his skin, pressing through the layers and puncturing, ripping and tearing until they absorb into his body and start to distribute themselves throughout. It’s buzzing. It’s all buzzing. Everything is stinging and buzzing _can’t do this gotta get out get out go can’t do this_ -

“Then tell me!” Geoff snaps. “Fuck, Aws, are you even _ready_ ta do something like this?”

“Got the camera! Ready to go when you are, Aws-” Jawn cuts himself off as he joins them in the lounge area, loosens his grip on the equipment around his neck and looks from Awsten to Geoff. “Whoa, what’s going on?”

“Well apparently, instead of dealing with how I feel, I should just go back to crying in my bunk,” he mutters. The words are thick. The lump in his throat is huge. The ache behind his eyes is strong. He swallows painfully and pushes past Jawn. Everything is blurry. His vision is swirling, infused with spurts of black ink that seem to eclipse more and more with every new spray. 

Stepping outside, off the bus and into the chilly night air feels different. He was drowning, before, drowning in there, and now the cool air feels like waves on his skin, like the feeling in your chest after taking the first sip of a cool drink on a scorching summer day, like that first drop of cool in a sea of heat. He inhales heavily as he leans against the bus, lets his head flop back against the vehicle and closes his eyes. 

_Breathe_.

…

“Fuck.”

Geoff breaks the silence. He bites his lip and drops his head down as he takes a breath, waits a couple seconds before he looks back up to meet his eyes. He fiddles with the strap of his camera and adjusts it against his chest.

“I didn’t mean that,” Geoff is saying. “I just- I’m worried about him.” He pauses and shakes his head. “He thinks he’s ready a lot of times and he’s just- not. And then it backfires and he’s so much more of a mess than he was. I just don’t want him pushing himself too hard, y’know?”

“You really care about him, don’t you?” If only things were different. If only these weren’t the circumstances, if only Geoff had said something earlier, if only Awsten had never gotten tangled up with that _bitch_ … 

Geoff would’ve been so good to him. 

Geoff’s _been_ so good to him. He’s been the helping hand, the unsung hero, the one who swoops in when Awsten’s having a pretty bad anxiety day or the assholes on Twitter get to be too much, when the world seems so determined to ravage a light so beautiful, throw the arrow before he even opens his front door and walks out into the world, dooms him from the beginning and then turns a blind eye to his resulting mannerisms. 

Geoff’s been the shoulder that she wasn’t, the warm body she refused to give, the light that she kept taking…when they’re doing promo and embarking on tours he can’t go on, Geoff steps up and assumes his role as fluidly as possible, curls next to Awsten and tangles their bodies together, makes his problems theirs as he coaxes him to move, to breathe, _it’ll be okay, I promise. You’re not on your own. They’re not mad at you. You’re not disappointing anyone, okay? You’re doing the best you can, and that’s all that matters_.

 _You’re doing the best you can and that’s all that matters_.

“I just- I want him to be okay,” Geoff says softly. “I hate seeing him like this, I hate that she did this to him, I just…fuck.” He shakes his head again and collapses, folds his knees and plops down on the couch with his head in his hands.

“He’s anxious,” Jawn replies. He perches next to Geoff with a sigh. “You know how he gets. Anxious and stressed and too wound up about this band shit. If we don’t shoot this, if he lets her come in the way of his job, his career, his _life_ …he’ll never forgive himself. You know that. He’s trying to go on even with it eating at him and one day it’ll be too much, but right now…right now, I think that’s what he needs. Take his mind off it, y’know?” He meets Geoff’s eyes with a smile. “And hey, the concept’s actually _really_ good. Sad as hell, but damn. It’s gonna be a great video, you’ll see.”

He doesn’t wait for Geoff to answer before he makes his way down the aisle and out of the bus.

“He’s just worried.” He slides down to sit next to Awsten and snakes an arm around his shoulders. Awsten doesn’t look up, keeps his gaze focused on the string lights he’s tangling around his fingers. “He thinks you’re pushing too hard, he wants you to take a break.”

“M’fine,” Awsten mumbles. 

“You’re not, though,” he replies. He nudges against Awsten’s shoulder. “You’re a lot of things, but fine definitely isn’t one of them.”

“Shut up.”

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” He squeezes Awsten against him with a sigh. “No one would blame you if you wanted to hold off. I can totally talk to Joel if you need me to. You shouldn’t- we don’t want you taking on more than you’re ready for, just ‘cause there needs ta be something out.”

“No.” Awsten’s voice is so small. “It’s not like that. This, I…I can’t go through with my original video idea. I can’t make a fuckin’ gross ass video after everything. It’s the happiest song on the album but this is the video for it. I know y’all think I’m like, on the verge of a mental break, or somethin’, but I feel good about this. I know it’ll be good. Can you just- trust me, on that?”

“Yeah.” That’s a new voice. Awsten jumps against him. Jawn glances upward, sees the bus door cracked and Geoff leaning slightly out of it. 

Geoff walks around to kneel down in front of them and reaches for one of Awsten’s hands. “I still don’t think it’s the best idea to do it while you’re like this, but…I trust you. And…if you say it’ll be good, I trust that.” He smiles and squeezes Awsten’s hand. “You’ll explain it to me after, right?”

“Yeah,” Awsten replies quietly. Geoff opens his arms and he moves into them immediately. Jawn smiles, locks eyes with Geoff and watches as he rubs Awsten’s back. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Geoff says. He pulls back and presses his lips against Awsten’s forehead for a couple seconds. “I’ll tell Otto, okay?”

“Thanks,” Awsten whispers. Geoff sends him another smile and brushes his fingers through his hair once more, before he stands and makes his way back into the bus. 

“You good?” He asks. “Still okay to do this?”

“Yeah.” Awsten wraps his arms around himself. He’s starting to shiver. His body is vibrating rapidly against Jawn’s. He exhales, wraps his arm back around Awsten’s shoulders, and hugs him close, turns his head and brushes his lips against Awsten’s head. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me ta get you a jacket?” He presses. “It’s cold out…”

“No,” Awsten says quickly. “It needs to be this sweatshirt.”

He’s not sure why. He doesn’t know what significance that particular sweatshirt has or why Awsten wants to keep wearing it, but he knows that everything has some sort of meaning. Awsten doesn’t do anything without a reason, even if that reason is only for himself. 

“Alright.” He gets to his feet and holds out a hand. “Let’s do this.”

…

Ten minutes in, he started to see what Awsten was intending. 

He’s following him around downtown Boston with a camera, as Awsten wraps the Christmas lights around himself. The ending shots are around a random telephone box, corresponding directly to the tonal shift in the song. He watches, as Awsten wraps the lights around the box and slides down in front of it, drops his head and closes his eyes.

_I know you said to mind my business, but cupid sent me on a mission…_

_That’s got me sitting, wishing, waiting for your call_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? this story is coming to an end soon...i wanna say 15 chapters but it could be more. next chapter, we're looking at another gawsten conversation (jawn puts the mv together and aws kinda explains everything to geoff), aws talks to patty again, and the tour starts to come to a close. 
> 
> the more comments i get, the quicker it's yours.
> 
> thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for anxiety and panic attacks
> 
> this is a heavy one oops
> 
> enjoy

“It’s…it’s perfect.”

“Yeah?” Jawn tightens the arm around his back and uses his other hand to pause the clip. “Are you sure? If there’s anything you want me to change, I can-”

“No,” he breathes. It’s a different sensation, like a ball is forming and swelling inside his chest, lighting itself on fire and heating everything in its vicinity while sending sparks outward. 

The knot weighs heavy and the ache is large, splattered against his skull, sinking in where it lays and forming the ruts. He’s been here before, traced into those same ridges time and time again, felt himself descend into the same trench he’s sure he’ll be buried in, going as deep as the hollows in his chest.

This was supposed to be different.

It was all supposed to be so different.

“I’m so prouda you,” Jawn murmurs. He feels the lips against the side of his head, closes his eyes and leans into Jawn’s touch, molds his side against Jawn’s chest and tries to take a few deep breaths out. “It came out so good. The fans are gonna love it.”

“I just.” The words bite as they come up. He can’t say anymore. His mouth feels dry, like he’s been swallowing cotton and can’t rid himself of the taste. “I don’t know how much longer I can feel like this.”

“You deserve better.” Jawn’s voice is soft, breath warm against the top of his head. “You deserve someone who’ll love you so much better than she ever could. And you’ll find them. I promise you will. It won’t hurt like this forever.”

“I thought she was everything.” His voice breaks. He can’t keep back the sob that follows. He turns his face into Jawn’s shirt and bites down on his lip. _Stop crying. Stop_ fucking _crying. Why do you have to do this every time_ -

It’s been over two weeks. Over two weeks of tears, body shifting into gears he didn’t think possible, _I can’t out of bed I can’t do this I can’t cry on stage again it’s too much it hurts to bad I just wanna be alone I don’t wanna see anyone or talk to anyone or face anyone please I just_ -

It’s been over two weeks and this is still his reality.

 _It was supposed to be different_.

“Hey,” Jawn murmurs. “You need a minute? I can go finish this in my bunk if you need me t-”

He shakes his head the tiniest bit, winds both arms around Jawn’s waist and squeezes, presses his lips together and tries to rein the rest of the tears in. He knows it’s a lot. He knows he’s a lot. It’s not easy to deal with him and Jawn shouldn’t have to _if she didn’t want to deal with you why would he why would anyone grow the fuck up stop it stop you need to stop doing this you’re gonna drive them away you’re gonna drive everyone away you_ -

“Aws? Hey, you okay?”

He lifts his head and rubs at his face with the back of his hand. 

He didn’t even notice Geoff come in. Nothing is registering. It’s all too fuzzy and black there are spots everywhere he can’t do this he can’t he can’t _pleasenostopitwhydoesthiskeephappening_ -

The next few moments are a blur. He doesn’t see. He can’t. It’s all red and black and hot everywhere he can’t breathe there’s no more air left _please I need it pleasepleaseplease_ -

There’s pressure against his back and then his face rubs against something solid and he forces a breath in, blows it out and takes another one, smaller this time, tries to hold it long enough for his starving chest to drench itself. The bone fragments are dry and they feel hollow, pressing into his skin and begging for something more. They need more. He doesn’t have more but they need it. 

“You’re okay.” 

The words are faint. The room is starting to shift back into focus. He can see again. Geoff is stretched up on his knees and he’s leaned forward on his chest and everything is so heavy and the world is pressing down on him but he can see again.

“S-sorry.” He swallows and shakes his head. It feels too full, like it’s deadweight. Too heavy to move. Too heavy. Everything’s too heavy. 

“You have _nothing_ to be sorry for.” Geoff keeps his arms around him as he slides up onto the couch, presses their bodies together and squeezes him tight. He closes his eyes and inhales, focuses on Geoff’s cologne and his arms around him and _warmwarmwarm_. 

He feels another hand add to his back, looks up into Jawn’s eyes and sees his smile as he clicks a final thing on the laptop and then slides it into his lap. “If you wanna show him…I think it’s mostly done. I’ll go back and do some final edits tonight, but I think we’re basically there.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” Jawn kisses the top of his head and hugs his waist briefly. “You’re gonna be okay, I promise.”

Awsten waits for him to disappear into the bunk area. It gives his chest time to settle; the heaving breaths start to even out and everything finally starts to die down. He inhales and leans further into Geoff. The exhaustion is tugging at his bones and pressing down on him, as heavy as his head. He wants to sleep.

“So the lights-”

“Aws, hey, you don’t have to do this right now, I know you’re tir-” He shakes his head and hits play. The video starts and Geoff quiets in the same breath. 

“I wanted to do it at 2am because I wanted the shots to come out like this. And no one’s on the streets that late, right?” He forces out a chuckle. “So, the lights are supposed to represent her, and…”

…

“It looks really good, y’know.”

“Huh?” He jumps, feels his heart start to speed up at the silence that’s now fracturing all around them. He lifts a shaky hand to the lid of the laptop and moves to shut it in haste, tries to fight against his now shaking hands and keep himself steady.

“Whoa, sorry.” Patty shoots him a smile and holds his hands up in surrender. “Didn’t mean ta scare you. The video looks amazing, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

“Y-Yeah,” he stutters. “I think the fans are really gonna like it too.”

“What about you?” Patty asks. He perches on the amp behind them and meets his gaze. “How do you feel about it? About everything, really?”

He shrugs. “Better than I was. Still not great. I had a panic attack yesterday. Jawn was editing and I just…I couldn’t.” He drops his gaze to the carpet and stares at his shoes, pulls his lip in between his teeth and presses down on it. 

“Hey.” Patty’s voice softens. “That’s okay. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“Everyone else doesn’t hurt this bad,” he forces out. His tongue feels too thick. The words feel clumsy, clunky around his mouth and weird coming out. “Or for this long. I don’t…I don’t know what else to do.” He swallows. It’s the first time he’s saying these words out loud and it feels like he’s physically torn open his chest with his hands. There’s no going back. It’s open and it’s bleeding and he can’t stop it.

“You havta let yourself feel it,” Patty says. “I know it sounds dumb but there’s no other way. You’ll think you’re over it if you repress everything but in a few days or months or years – however long it takes – you won’t be. You’re gonna feel it eventually. It’s just easier to do it while it happens.”

“It’s annoying.” The words are hot. He ducks his head and tries to force a breath in. “I know everyone’s sick of me. _Jawn’s_ sick of me. And I just- I needa stop being such a crybaby.”

“You’re not, though,” Patty replies. He reaches out, grabs his hand and squeezes. “It’s barely been what, three weeks, since it happened? There’s no timeline for getting over a breakup, Aws. It takes as long as it takes.” 

He opens his mouth to reply, to refute, _it takes me forever and everyone’s gonna leave because I’m a sad piece of shit crybaby that feels too much and I don’t want to be this way anymore I don’t want it please someone take it away I don’t want it I don’t want it I don’t_ -

“And Jawn loves you,” Patty continues. “He’s worried. I think we all are. But I promise on my fuckin’ grave, he’s never gonna get sick of you. You mean the world to him, Aws. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“I just-” He chokes out a dry sob. “I don’t want him to leave. I don’t want Geoff to leave. I don’t wanna be too much ‘nymore. M’too much. For everyone. An’ I don’t wanna be anymore.”

 _He thought she was okay with it she said she was okay with it how long was he bothering her how long did he not know_ -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? i don't obviously know what awsten was intending the mv to be about, like what he thinks the lights represent and everything, so i chose to do the scene that way rather than forcing my theory on everyone lmao i hope that was okay
> 
> next chapter skips a bit ahead to the last show of the tour in houston, and if y'all remember what happened at that date...it's gonna be a lot. we're ending on chapter 15, so there's just next chapter and an epilogue and we'll be wrapping up. the more comments i get, the quicker it's yours.
> 
> thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter before the epilogue. damn.

“Are you sure?”

“Really Aws, we don’t have to- Blonde was just-”

“Blonde was _two months_ ago,” he emphasizes, bites out the words and squeezes his eyes shut. “We needa put another song out and I want it to be this one. The video’s done, why not?”

“I thought Not Warriors was gonna be our next single.” Otto slides out of his bunk and joins them in the lounge area. He leans against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest. “Wasn’t that the plan?”

“Aws wants to change it,” Lucas says quietly. “I mean, I’m all for it. S’a damn good video. I just don’t know if they’re gonna be okay with it. Like, didn’t you already send them the old plans before you redid the entire thing?”

“Not like, anything real,” he mutters. “I sent them my shitty notes. And I said nothing was confirmed, ‘cause it _wasn’t_. Things change. _People_ change.” 

He swallows once he says the words, ducks his head and bites down on his lip. His teeth sink right back into the groove they’ve created over this tour, the reddened crevice in his skin that hurts the tiniest bit more every time he presses into it. It’s like digging further and further into an inflated balloon, unsure of when exactly it’ll pop but knowing at some point that it will. 

The hold on his hand tightens. He inhales, heavy and tight, looks up and into Geoff’s eyes. Geoff widens his smile, grips his hand even tighter and starts to rub his thumb against the back of his palm. “Lucky People’s a great song. Fan favorite for sure. It was meant to be played on the radio. And we can release Not Warriors after. Closer to the album. It’ll all work out.”

“Geoff-”

“It’ll all work out,” Geoff repeats, firmer this time. Awsten sighs and turns his face into Geoff’s shoulder, forces in a breath and lets it out slowly. _Breathe. In, and out. You’re okay. You’re okay. Just breathe_.

It’ll all work out.

Will it, though? Will it ever?

He doesn’t want to be like this anymore. He doesn’t want to think about it with each breath he takes, ruminate and mull and _feel_ , like everything is collapsing it on itself, like he’s a broken-down building, a flower that can’t stop wilting, a human traffic accident splayed out on the freeway while the world around him keeps on living. 

He doesn’t want it to hurt anymore. It will, until it stops. It’ll hurt until it doesn’t and he has to ride the wave out. He knows that. He knows he has to give it time. He knows one day he’ll wake up and it won’t hurt as much as it does right now, one day it’ll hurt so little he’ll barely notice it, one day the thing, the _person_ he thought he couldn’t live without, will be a mere blip on his radar. 

That day is taking far too long to come and he doesn’t know how much longer he has before he’s utterly done.

It’ll all work out.

And that’s what he thinks, goes over and over in his head as Geoff’s arm comes down to his waist. He lets him lead him over to the bunk area, feels Geoff nod against his back and then climbs into his bunk. Geoff follows and drapes an arm across his back, and he sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I know m’a mess. Thanks for putting up with it.”

“Hey.” Geoff’s hand snakes down to find his own, and then he squeezes tight and laces their fingers together as he continues speaking, “you’re not an obligation, Aws. You gotta stop thinking you are. I’m here because I _want_ to be.”

“She didn’t wanna be,” he forces out. He waits for the tears, waits for the breath to leave his throat and the lump to follow. 

Nothing comes. It feels empty. Like he’s been knocked down and the ruble is too scattered to even know where to begin rebuilding. “And I didn’t know until it was over.”

“And she is scum for doing that to you,” Geoff says immediately. “Manipulative and toxic and scum of the fucking Earth. Because for what it’s worth, Aws, she wasn’t good for you. You deserve so much better than her.”

“They always say that,” he mutters. “And I just- if I really deserve better, why do I keep getting shit?”

…

“Alright guys, you’re on in five.”

“Hey, whoa, Aws, you ready?”

He shrugs, takes his guitar from the tech and slips it over his neck, keeps his head down all the while and fiddles with the tuning pegs. His heart is racing. There’s this feeling, this sickness, housed in the pit of his stomach, a plant that’s grown roots and is now stretching the discomfort throughout the rest of his body.

“I wanna play it.”

“Huh?” Otto looks back at him, stops twirling one of his drumsticks. It launches from his hand and ends up on the ground, but he doesn’t even acknowledge it. 

“Lucky People,” he mutters. “I wanna do it tonight. In the encore. I wanna open with it.”

“Aws, I don’t think that’s-”

“Are you sure?” That’s Geoff. He looks up and meets his eyes, gives the tiniest nod of his head and then turns his attention back to his guitar. 

“If you want to,” Geoff continues. “I think it’s a good idea.”

“Are you outta your _mind_?”

“What’s so wrong with him doing it?”

“He couldn’t get through Powerless without crying a few shows ago, you really think playing the sappiest love song he’s ever written about her is a _good_ idea?”

“Hey.” He feels the hand on his shoulder and bites his lip, squeezes his eyes shut and keeps his head down, backs up until he hits a wall and presses his body into it, allows it to take most of his weight. “I’m just not sure you’re up to it, y’know, after everything with filming the video and helping me edit, I don’t know if you’re ready for-”

He clenches his jaw and glares at Jawn. “How the fuck do you know what I’m ready for? I wanna fuckin’ play it and I wanna play it tonight.”

Jawn nods in response. He bites his lip as he echoes and then stares back down at the instrument in his lap. The pit in his stomach is growing.

The room falls silent after that. It’s a blanket of tension that drapes over everything and leaves it sticky, a blanket that’s scratchy and uncomfortable and evidently there no matter how hard you try to forget about it, a blanket that you can’t ignore no matter what.

He can’t ignore it.

Nothing is okay and he can’t ignore it. 

Playing it tonight won’t make things okay _nothing is okay and he can’t ignore it nothing is okay and he can’t ignore it nothing is okay and he can’t ignore it_ -

“S-sorry,” he forces out. “I j-just- I wanna- I _need_ ta do this. Please, I just…”

“Do it.” Otto grins at him. “You’ll kill it. And we’re all rootin’ for ya, y’know?”

He doesn’t meet Jawn’s eyes until it’s ten seconds till showtime. Running a last hand through his hair, he adjusts his guitar on his chest and watches Otto walk out onto the stage and hop up behind his drumkit. Geoff glances back at him, and he swallows.

“You’re gonna kill it,” Jawn repeats. He’s smiling.

He smiles.

…

He’s shaking.

His hands have been, all night. Geoff’s been covering him and he’s made the crowd sing a lot more lyrics than they usually do. _Make it through. Make it through. Three more. Two more. One more. You’ve got this. You can do this. Breathe. It’s gonna be okay. Breathe_.

He keeps repeating that in his head as the lights go dark. They run off and gather side stage, and then he stops.

It feels like a train slamming into him. Adrenaline and anxiety, a cocktail of nerves that he is destined to stay drunk off for the next few hours. It’s nausea-infused and sweat inducing and it feels like everything is coming crashing down all at once. He doesn’t know how to breathe and he doesn’t know what to do and he’s not even sure if he wants to do this anymore _was it a good idea was it worth all of this fuckfuckfuck_ -

“Hey, whoa, you good?” Jawn wraps an arm around his shoulders and presses their faces together, ducks down to whisper in his ear, “you don’t havta if you don’t want to, okay? No one’s gonna judge you for changing your mind.”

“I want to,” he says, numbly. The words feel too thick for his tongue. Clumsy. Too big. “I’m okay.”

“Got them.” Geoff moves in front of him, tangling the cord of lights around his hands and reaching out to start wrapping them around his body. He drapes the plug across Awsten’s shoulder and continues around his neck and chest. “You know I’m here either way, right? No matter what. I’m here for you. You mean the world to me.”

“Geoff, I-”

“I know.” Geoff smiles and tucks the other end of the string into one of the loops, and then reaches down for his hand. “You’re not ready. It’s okay. Even as a friend, Aws…you’re everything. Don’t ever think different.”

“Thank you,” he says. There’s a lump in his throat. He’s not gonna make it through the song without crying. “For everything.”

“You are the strongest person I know.” Geoff squeezes his hand even tighter. His voice is thick. He’s starting to tear up too. “And I am so proud of you. Go out there and kill it, sunshine, okay?”

“Aws, hey…I don’t wanna push, but…you gotta get out there, dude. They’re waiting.”

He turns his head and nods at Lucas, gives Geoff’s hand another squeeze, and with a lasting look at Jawn, turns and heads back onto the stage.

He doesn’t say anything when he reaches the microphone. He adjusts the acoustic against his chest and looks up and into the crowd, some of them screaming, some of them crying, flags and signs and lights being waved all around. 

He takes a breath.

And he smiles.

“ _Light us up until we pop, I wanna burn bright ‘till we’re not, let’s keep each other safe from the world_ …”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? epilogue is next. it's gonna be...interesting, to say the very least. the more comments i get, the quicker it's yours.
> 
> thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's.......really been a minute huh
> 
> trigger warnings for anxiety/panic attacks.
> 
> this is the last chapter. enjoy.

“Alright, you need any more?”

“I think I’m good.” He forces down a swallow and surveys the room, closes his eyes and squeezes tightly for a few seconds before blinking back open again. 

The boxes don’t disappear. 

He lets himself lean forward, until his elbows are touching cardboard and teetering on the edge of collapsing under his weight, _in, and out. In, and out. You’re fine. This is going to be fine. Breathe_.

Breathe.

But he can’t. He can’t hit pause on the panic attack because it keeps prevailing, pulsating at the back of his mind and permeating everything. Every thought, every action, every movement is probed and preceded, _what if she’s there what if I run into her what if she tries to talk to me what if it happens again what if it happens again what if it happens again <-_

 _What if it happens again_ -

What if he’s there and she is too and everything starts to dissolve beneath him, what if the world crumbles and he fumbles everything like the idiot he is, too trusting, too forgiving, giving second chances like the candy they seemed to be, tearing into his heart and handing her chunk after chunk, going back for more when there was nothing left, scrambling, rummaging, trying to salvage what remained of the wreckage amidst the inevitable breakage. 

He never knows when his breath leaves him anymore. It’s there and then it isn’t, stolen by the confines of his mind and recycled for the next time the world decides to leave him in the bind. He can breathe and then he can’t. It always happens so fast and he doesn’t know how long it’ll last, doesn’t know how long he’ll feel like the world is physically surging up to swallow him whole from the constant panic attack he can’t control.

He doesn’t know why he’s doing this. He doesn’t know how the idea even became a reality; one day he was perfectly content in Houston, with his family and his friends and the orange juice he loves so much, well-adjusted to the urgency and never once fazed by the ardor of certain tasks. They didn’t feel that way. It was a different kind of difficult that didn’t involve his hands shaking every time he imagined leaving the house and the fluttering in his chest that never stopped, _what if I see her what if she decides to go to the grocery store at the same time what am I supposed to say what am I supposed to do how am I supposed to do this I don’t know I don’t know I_ -

He feels like he’s bleeding.

The words won’t stop. He’s ripped himself open and he can’t stitch that part shut again. He keeps trying to batten down the hatches and force it into a container, draw the shade on the parts of himself that make him want to fade, _stop it. It’s not ready. You’re not ready. The world isn’t ready to hear this and you need to think about how much of yourself you’re giving them. They don’t need everything._

 _They don’t deserve everything_. 

But he’s not living unless he’s giving, unless he’s ripping from a reserve he barely has, journeying deep into the pits of his chest and breaking off parts he isn’t sure he’s even ready to talk about, _I can’t keep it here any longer. It stays and it rots me from the inside out and it’ll still hurt there but it’ll be better than this_. 

Anything, would be better than this.

And he wants to be over it, already. He wants to be done with it. People are mad at him and tired of him and he can’t even blame them because he’s fucking tired of himself and it hurting all the time and not being able to go out with his friends or enjoy concert or have one good fucking day without _she cheated on you she’s gone it’s all over she cheated on you-_

_This is for the best._

_You can’t stay._

_Giving is living and it can’t happen here_.

He keeps telling himself that, tries to know it’ll be good and imagine it’ll be good, force the universe to align itself with the laws of attraction because it loves him enough to never make him this sad again. But none of it is guaranteed and that’s what he remembers that night; that’s what breeds and multiplies across his mind, sends him reeling amongst the throes of lost time. 

He could’ve been smarter and gotten out earlier and saved himself all of this _he could’ve known better he should’ve known better he could’ve_ -

“Aws? Dude, you good?”

“Yeah, sorry.” He blinks rapidly to refocus his vision and puts the stack of books he’s been holding into an empty box. “Just thinking.”

“Everything okay?” Geoff reaches for the pile of clothes on his bed and slides onto the floor as he starts to fold and place them in another box. 

“Just- nervous, I guess.” He drops his voice toward the end and keeps his gaze on his lap. “This is a lot. I dunno. I just…”

He hears Geoff scoot across the carpet and feels his body relax against his own, before Geoff’s arm comes up to wrap around his shoulders. “It’s a big step,” Geoff admits. “Like playing Lucky People was, last show. But I wouldn’t be on board if I didn’t think you could do it, Aws. You’ve got this. I know you do.”

“I’m excited, don’t get me wrong,” he mumbles. “’Cause, like, Courtney’s there, and I’m super close to the studio and I won’t be wastin’ time on planes, but- I dunno. It just…I don’t know if m’ready for it.”

“It’s a huge change.” Geoff tightens the arm around his shoulders and squeezes him close. “But it’ll be so good for you, Awsten. You can focus on the music and writing and go in the studio whenever you have something, not store it away till we fly out next. And hey, maybe we’ll be able to put the third record out sooner. You never know.”

“What if I run into her?” 

His voice breaks as he asks the question. He doesn’t look up. He can’t. And it’s a very long moment, before Geoff answers.

“It’ll suck.” The words are soft. Geoff pulls him even closer. “It’ll be awkward and you’ll probably be shaky afterward, and everything will feel like it’s falling apart all over again, like all the progress you’ve made was destroyed.” His voice is shaking and his eyes are glassy. “But then.” His breath hitches and he lifts a finger to turn Awsten’s chin so their gazes will me. “You’re gonna call me, and tell me what happened, and I’ll be there, okay? To tell you how amazing you are. I’ll always be there.”

“I’m gonna miss you so much.”

The sob bursts from his throat before he can stop it. He turns his face into Geoff’s shoulder and wraps his arms around his waist. Geoff keeps rubbing his back.

“I’ll miss you too.” He scoots around until their bodies are facing each other, face not leaving Geoff’s neck. “But we’ll see each other ‘soon as Otto and I come up ta record, y’know? Once you get the amazing things in your head into words. We’ll make the album and put it out and it’ll be so fucking good, Aws. I promise.”

He exhales and pushes up from Geoff’s body, bites his lip as Geoff reaches forward to brush tears off his cheeks. “You really think so?”

Geoff smiles. “I know so.”

“And hey…I’ve actually been thinkin’ about moving up there myself, so…” Geoff trails off. “You cool with having a roommate for a while, in a few months, while I look for a place?”

“You don’t have to.” 

“Hm?”

“Look for a place.” He doesn’t register the words until they’re out there. “You don’t have to.”

He lets his head flop back down into the crook of Geoff’s neck as the arm around his waist tightens again.

Fifty percent has never felt this good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't wanna get overly sappy or anything but i just wanted to say thank you, to all of you that have read/loved/supported this story. thank you for your kind words and your continuous love. you've all had super nice things to say and reading all the comments made my day. thank you for that. thank you for supporting this story. it was cathartic for me but it turned into a lot more than that and i'm really proud of what it's become. i hope you've all enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed writing it.
> 
> thank you, again. i appreciate all of you.

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts? i'm trying to be as realistic as possible while also trying to get into awsten's head which is hard bc we only know what he puts into songs. if you couldn't tell already, i've been listening to worst on repeat while writing this. but in general awsten's kinda a hard person to read on surface level so this is all definitely not 100% accurate but i'm trying my best lmao
> 
> the more feedback i get the quicker i'll post the next chapter!
> 
> thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed!


End file.
